


Tails of the Captains Daughter

by deannawol



Series: The Villainous Pirate and the Young Lieutenant [1]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Allison Iraheta (Musician), American Idol RPF, Husbands (TV), Kris Allen (Musician), Monte Pittman (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deannawol/pseuds/deannawol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <div class="center">
<p> </p>
<p>    <strong>Tails of the Captains Daughter<br/>Or<br/>The Tale concerning how exactly Lieutenant Bradley Bell came to defect from the Navy and join a villainous Pirate crew</strong><br/></p>
</div><hr/><p>The worth of a man is in his ability to survive. </p><p>Lieutenant Bradley Bell is heir to a proud family tradition of loyal service in the British Navy with more salt-water than blood in his veins. Unfortunately the Navy proves to be no place for a free spirit with wits as sharp as his blade.  Trapped on a ship with a sadistic Captain and a corrupt Marine Major, Brad finds himself eager for a new career. </p><p>The villainous pirate Captain Adam Lambert earnt his title with cunning and ruthless determination, and more than a small amount of luck. He has a keen eye for treasure but when Fate brings him a wounded though fierce Lieutenant instead of riches and gold, will both their prayers be answered?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Times Three Times Three

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
>  [Art by QueenMidalah](http://queenmidalah.livejournal.com/429209.html)   
> 
> 
> **Warnings** : Whipping used in a non-BDSM environment, Threats of non-consensual sexual intercourse (buggery), Violence, Graphic descriptions, Language used in the 18th century (i.e. period specific terms which may currently be deemed racist).
> 
>  **Authors Notes** : I’ve really enjoyed writing this story. It’s a companion piece, and prequel to my Kradam Big Bang 2011 story, The Highest of Seas, the Lowest of Men. That story doesn’t have to be read before reading this story. 
> 
> I’ve been wonderfully blessed by having three betas for the story. The first is Tacitus who listened to me read out this story and corrected my sailing references and made sure that I didn’t write something completely nonsensical. The second is aramuin who also helped me by holding my hand and being my main cheerleader for the project. The third is capnzebbie who helped me bring a little consistency to my writing. All remaining mistakes are mine and I take responsibility for them. I hope you enjoy my story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
>  **Quick Explanations** : The Captain's Daughter is a slang term for the flogger used aboard ship for administering punishment whippings, also called a cat o'nine tails. It takes the form of a thick length of rope unravelled into it's nine constituent strands. Each strand is knotted three times at various intervals.
> 
> * * *

 

**13th May 1705**  
 **Below Decks of _HMS Revenge_ , **  
**17 Leagues Nor’-Nor’-East of Eleuthera**

 

Lieutenant Bradley Bell, son of Captain Alan Bell who was honoured for his part in the battle of _La Hougue_ , grandson of Admiral Lord Benjamin Bell who replaced Earl Torrington after his humiliation at the battle of _Bantry Bay_ , younger brother of Captain Alexander Bell, recently promoted following the capture of three separate scurrilous crews of pirates in the seas around Bermuda, older brother of Midshipman Charles Bell, who had yet to make a name for himself but who no doubt would manufacture a situation suitable to find himself named hero, knew that there were those on the ship, a majority if truth were told, that wished him assigned anywhere else in the Navy instead of here on the _HMS Revenge_ , finding him a poor substitute for the Lieutenant he was to replace and he shared their wish, though he would never say so out loud. 

He knew that there were those who thought him misplaced, familially speaking; the product of some horrific accident that resulted in the Bells being delivered someone else’s child.  Brad knew that he shared none of the features that marked the Bell men, favouring his mother’s sharp and feminine angles instead of the aquiline lines of his father and the sharp edged tongue she held rather than the honeyed tongue that marked Bell officers.  Hand in hand with that realisation was another.  Brad had known for years that a well formed pair of buttocks and packed britches caught his eye far quicker than any uncovered ankle, no matter how finely it was turned.  But even with all this knowledge, even with these realisations, Brad would be _damned_ if he could be backed into a corner to lift his shirt for any man, no matter what his rank. 

All these facts flashed through Brad's mind as he dodged the sweep of the Captain's cane and he spared a moment to curse every unknowable whimsy of fate that had brought him to this moment, this hulk of a ship and her witless letch of a Captain. 

The Captain, Captain Archibald Chester, had manoeuvred events to have Brad attend him in his ward room while every other officer, every friend Brad had on the ship was engaged elsewhere, leaving Brad completely at the Captain's mercy...  Or so the captain thought.  But Brad hadn't floated in on the last wave, far from it. 

 _That_ was when the Captain brought his cane to bear, driving it into Brad's gut as he turned to flee, leaving him without breath and sickened to the pits of his stomach.  The next blow came without pause, solid and to his chest and sent him flying backwards to slam into the ward room wall.  The world swam for a second and Chester was on him before he could recover.

Captain Chester's cane was solid oak with a heavy sterling silver ornament at its top and that cold metal was, before Brad could do more than grapple for purchase against the smooth walls of the ward room, pressed tight to the point of his jaw and forced him to the tips of his toes as the Captain muttered obscene remarks under his breath as he reached for the ties of Brad's britches. 

“A fine little prim you are, aren’t you?  Neat as a new penny and shiny to boot.  Don’t think I missed the looks you’ve been giving the men, boy, eyeing up the prospects.  Turned heads you did, all those neatly tailored clothes making quite a show of that arse of yours,” the Captain muttered, voice strained as he stretched just a little further, “Caught my eye soon as you stepped on board, it did, and I promised myself that you were _mine_.  Made it a chase you did, good to get the blood flowing, but you’re mine now and I _will_ have you.”

Thanks to the angle, the tips of his fingers could barely reach his target and though the Captain contorted himself to a ridiculous degree, he couldn't do more than brush the fastenings.  He huffed, puffed and cursed.  Brad would have laughed had this been any other moment, because for all the Captain’s intelligence, and Brad had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that the Captain was not, usually, without a fair modicum of common sense, he made quite the absurd figure at the moment.  However, aside from the equation of the length of his cane versus the length of his arm, the Captain had neglected to take one or two factors into account when he started to embark upon his carnal plans and Brad intended to exploit the Captain's lack of foresight ruthlessly. 

The first point was that Bradley Bell was famed throughout the Navy for his sharp tongue and his scathing remarks that cut deeper than any blade, and the second was that for however sharp his tongue was, his knives were sharper still.  But first, Brad needed to get himself some amount of space.

"My fath..."  Brad swallowed against the pain as the cane bit deep into his jaw, "My father was right, sir, you are nothing but a cur and a blackguard."

Chester's mouth flapped like that of a fresh landed fish, rage clearly evident behind his eyes and he drew back for a moment, pulling his cane back and letting drop Brad to the floor.  Pain shot up from the soles of Brad's feet to his knees and higher but he bit down the discomfort and reached for his knife, drawing it with lightning quick speed and bracing himself as the Captain swung his cane.  This time Brad was ready for it and caught it just a fraction before it hit his side, tugging hard on it to pull the Captain off balance and slashing out with his knife at the same time.

"Thrice-damned bastard!" cursed the Captain, pulling back and clamping a hand to his forearm where blood was running freely down to drip from his fingers.

Brad smirked and drew a second blade, "From you, Captain, I'll take that as a compliment."  He flexed his jaw, "Now, I'm going to leave and you're going to stay here and neither of us will say anything about this little altercation.  Agreed, sir?"

"I haven't dismissed you, Mister Bell," the Captain growled, low and dangerous and Brad's fingers flexed on the handles of his knives.

"And I didn't ask to be dismissed, _sir_ ," Brad poured pure contempt into that last word, "But I'm taking my leave of you anyway and if you press your suit again, I promise you that you'll not live to regret it.  We make port in two weeks; I'll take my leave of the ship then and find an alternate berth."

"You'll leave my ship when I tell you to and not one second before it," the Captain started towards him, taking slow measured steps, his cane held out in front of him as if it were a sword rather than an over-ostentatious affectation, "I'm the Captain here and you _will_ bend to my command!"

"Over your dead body," Brad spat.

He edged closer to the ward room door, carefully watching the Captain's every move.  The man moved like a drunken ox, without grace or elegance, and that suited Brad just fine.  Brad skipped out of the way of the Captain's next strike, ducking under the cane as it swung.  The man followed it up with an attempted punch, but Brad's blades were there.  The Captain cursed again and dropped his cane, no longer able to hold it as Brad neatly severed muscle from bone, stripping the man’s thumb from nail to wrist.

"As charming as this encounter _hasn't_ been, Captain," Brad gave the Captain a half-bow, although his eyes never left the Captain's face, "I'll just see myself out, shall I?"

"I think not," the Captain sneered.  His voice rose sharply and he called out, "Major, attend me!"

Brad frowned, confused, and as Brad's mind struggled to make sense of the Captain's cry, just before the farthing dropped on why the Major was within hearing range, the door opened and there stood the neat, red figure of the Marine Major, Major Frederick Devere, his sword unsheathed and held at the ready. 

Brad felt a flash of betrayal.  The Major was supposedly only on board because he was in need of transport to his new assignment, but there was clearly more to the relationship between the two men than simply that of shipmates.  The Major was, or had made himself out to be, a soft-mannered man, a willing mentor to any junior officer still finding his way on his new ship, offering a friendly word and a sympathetic ear, but as Brad looked up at him now, there was none of that mild man left in his face.  Instead a vicious smirk graced his features and turned them harsh and ugly.  It seemed that Brad had spent so much time avoiding the Captain’s trap that he’d fallen into one of the Major’s making instead.

Brad allowed himself a second to curse the _HMS Revenge_ , her Captain and every soul on board.  Why had he not listened to his father?  Why had he not unbent his too-stubborn neck and let his father find him a friendly berth?  Damn his independence and his need to make a name for himself.  Damn it.  Brad took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his knives and prepared to take on both men. 

"The viper turned, eh, Captain?" Major Devere barked a laugh, "Told you he wouldn't go easy.  Told you he'd put up a fight, didn't I?"

"Yes, damn your eyes," Chester nodded, grimacing as he flexed his hand and Brad smiled a vicious smile.

"Gentlemen, pleased though I am that I was in your thoughts, I'll ask you to move and be on my way."

"Oh, not just yet," the Major kicked the door closed behind him, "Stay a while.  We haven't even become acquainted yet."

Brad looked beyond the Major to the door, still open a touch more than a fraction and prayed with his whole being that someone, anyone would chance past and glance in.  But until they did, Brad would keep fighting.

"As exciting as that prospect is, gentlemen, I find I must decline," Brad inclined his head and gestured to both the Major and the Captain to come at him.

The Captain made no move towards Brad so Brad focused his attention on the Major as the more immediate threat.  The Major raised the blade of his sword halfway to his face in a sloppy mockery of a salute as if this were going to be a fair fight, but before the Major could press his attack, Brad flung one of his knives and, while the Major dodged, followed it without pause with a precise flurry of slashes that left the Major reeling backwards, attempting to parry and failing badly.  Who knew that all those years of fencing would pay off quite so spectacularly?  Brad smiled and slashed out again, catching the Major's hand as he ducked past the man's defences.  The man wasn't particularly a challenge.

TWACK!

Brad pitched forward, his hand going to the back of his head where pain was blossoming in nauseating waves.  Brad managed a half turn before dizziness made himlose his footing and stumble.  He lowered his hand and was surprised to see blood, surprised and confused.  He looked at the Major but all he could register was the man's gloating face.  He turned to the Captain and saw him holding his cane, the silver smeared with red.  He saw the Captain preparing to swing again and tried to dodge out of the way but his balance was gone and the Major was there, ready to take advantage.  Brad saw the boot coming for him but there was nothing he could do but brace.  He slashed out but the Major's boot connected before Brad's knife could and Brad went flying backwards, the pain in his jaw unbearably sharp, his teeth crashing together and rattling what was left of his wits.  His vision dulled, darkening around the edges and narrowing down to the barest pinprick of light.  But Brad held on, clinging by his well kept fingernails to consciousness.

"What now, Captain?" asked the Major.

"Now for some fun," the Captain laughed, "Time to make the whelp pay for what he's done to me."

Brad bit back a groan as he tried to move.  Light faded to dark and forced him to cease his attempts.  It was sheer desperation that made him cry out but it seemed that desperation was his guardian angel in that instant for he heard footsteps in the corridor.  Brad had never heard a more welcomed sound in his life and thanked whatever Gods may have been watching over him in his hour of need.

"Blast," the Major mumbled, "Sir, your breeches."

"Captain Chester, sir, we heard a scream from in here.  Is everything alright, sir?  Do you require any assistance?" Brad recognised the voice of Lieutenant Stokes, the first officer through the door.

With a muttered curse and a dropped and fumbling hand, the Captain was forced to answer, "Stokes, quickly, come in.  Thank the Lord you've come.  Have you men with you?"

“Aye, sir.”

“Good, that’s good,” the Captain seemed relieved, or sounded so anyway.

Brad frowned at the Captain's answer and his stomach, sickened as it was, started to plummet further, sinking until it was lost in the seaweed on the ocean's floor. 

"The Lieutenant attacked me, just went mad and lunged at me.  Salt sickness, it must be," the Captain collapsed back into a chair, looking pathetic.

"No...  No, that's not..." Brad shook his head, trying to deny the charge but his voice wouldn't rise above a whisper, "I didn't..."

"Just lost his mind and when the Major came to my assistance, he took the brunt of Mister Bell's madness," the Captain shook his head, an expression so sad on his face that Brad could scarcely believe that this was the same man that mere moments ago had been prepared to take him against his will.  "Take him, hold him, chain him to the mast.  I won't have him attacking anyone else, upon my honour.  And if it wouldn't be too much trouble, could one of you perhaps ask the ship's surgeon to attend us."

Brad growled a curse only to whimper as the men lifted him clear off the ground and manhandled him up to the deck.  He heard laugher in his wake but honestly he couldn't tell if it was real or just contained within the spinning dizziness of his mind. 

"Gonna lash you up, boy, good and proper," one man whispered in his ear, a mate, Brad thought, one of the Captain’s chosen by the sounds of his words and the reek of his fetid breath, "Officer or no, you'll be taught a lesson and no mistake.  Attacking the Captain, shame on ya, and you from the family you're from.  Cryin' shame, lad."

There was mockery in that voice and condemnation, and Brad opened his mouth to speak but shut it as his gorge rose dangerously high.  He swallowed and breathed and tried again, "It's not...  That's not what happened.  The Captain...  He..."

"Save your words for the trial, Lieutenant," the man hissed.

Brad almost laughed.  Trial?  Could a farce such as that the Captain and the Major were concocting be truly thought of as a trial?  Brad caught himself and shook his head.  More than his wits had been shaken by the Captain's blow.  That was sure.  His thoughts were taking a turn for the philosophical rather than planning some method of escaping his fate and he could ill afford to be so complacent.  Captain Chester, and indeed Major Devere, were seen as sterling examples of officers in the Navy and Brad suspected that they would do anything to keep their reputations pristine.

He bit his lip as the men hoisted him up, slamming his spine against the mizzen mast before binding him firmly, hands, feet and everything in between.  Brad protested but the words died in his throat as one of the men grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head back against the mast.  Hard.  Brad didn't have time to utter even a syllable this time before the world darkened and faded into nothingness.


	2. A Cruel Bite

**13th May 1705**  
 **Chained to the Mizzen Mast of _HMS Revenge_ , **  
**23 Leagues Nor’-Nor’-East of Eleuthera**  


He grumbled and groused and struggled to probe the darkness to find the reason behind his incarceration.

Memories flashed through his mind, every detail of the previous day's events and he winced.  He was lashed to the mast, bound so tight that he could not be sure that his hands and feet were still attached.  The Captain, Devil damn his soul, and his tame Marine Major had strung him up so well that Brad couldn't even start to think how to get himself extricated from the situation.  Truth wouldn't be worth the breath it took to speak under such circumstances and doubtless the Captain had already taken the time to plot a convenient explanation.  Damn them to the Hell that they so richly deserved. 

"Matty-lad, go tell the Captain that his pretty, pretty peacock is awake and in fine form for his trial," a voice said far too loudly, laughing as Matty's footsteps retreated in the direction of the Captain's rooms.

Brad recognised the voice, could picture the man's face but it took him a moment to recall the man's name.  Hawkes.  Ernest Hawkes.  He was one of the Boatswain's mates and a close, _personal_ friend of the Major.  He was a man that Brad had never trusted at his back.  Hell, truth be told, he wouldn't trust the man at his front nor his side, not just because he made Brad's skin crawl.  No, the man smelt like ten day old fish and was a good shot slimier.  Brad let his eyes flutter open and cursed the midday sun as it attempted to blind him.

"I have it from here, Hawkes," the Major was standing beside him and Brad suppressed his urge to try to pull away.

Brad looked around, desperately hoping to spot a friendly face nearby but they were quite alone on this particular patch of deck but for the Major’s cronies.

"Right you are, sir," Hawkes tipped his hat to the Major and smiled a gap-toothed smile, "He gives you any trouble, don't you hesitate to call on me and the boys.  Be only too happy to teach this molly a right good lesson, sir."

"I know you would," the Major reached out and ran a finger over Brad's cheek and it was all Brad could do to resist the urge to snap at that finger and tear it from the Major's hand but he wouldn't give the man the pleasure of a reaction.  "But, the Captain has first claim on the boy.  It was his pleasure the brat denied, after all.  But, unless I miss my guess, our Mister Bell will be begging to swing on the Captain's mast before the day is out, and no doubt after the Captain's plotted the course, the channel will be cleared for the rest of us, if you follow my meaning."

"Loud and clear, Major Devere, sir," Hawkes delighted, "Loud and clear."

Brad snorted, unable to hold his tongue any longer, even with his gut roiling at the Major’s insinuation. "A deaf mute monk locked in a monastery atop the highest mountain would follow your meaning.  Honestly, I knew that the Navy prized the Marines for their ability to knock things down, but I thought they might have held out for some with more than salt between their ears."

"You ungrateful runt," the Major’s curse was quick but quicker still with the backhand that left Brad's cheek stinging.

Brad made a show of looking down at the ropes and then back up at the Major, "And what, pray tell, should I be grateful for exactly?"

Major Devere leaned in close and breathed his answer into the shell of Brad's ear, "You're still alive, aren't you?"

Brad wasn’t sure that was a concession he should be grateful for but he made no show of it on his face or in his demeanour, "And how is the arm?"

The Major's face darkened and Brad knew he'd scored a solid hit.

Hawkes, who had been watching the exchange, could not let the matter simply drop without adding his final comment, "We'll have to see about arranging a little party below decks for the boy here.  Real elite.  With a guest list like one of them society affairs.  That'll take the starch from his shirt, dontcha think, Major Devere, sir?"

"I think you'd best not plan on anything until the Captain gets his fill," the Major growled, flicking his eyes over his shoulder to where the Captain was just stepping out from his cabins.

The Captain was done up in his best finery, ceremonial sword at his side and a freshly buffed tricorn hat sitting proudly on a newly powdered wig.  He was attended by two newly raised midshipmen, mere wisps of men, who looked petrified as they rushed along to stand in the Captain's shadow.  Brad wondered what had happened to make them so fearful, but before he could think too hard on the matter, the Captain took his place at the railings of the Mizzen deck and nodded to Lieutenant Gregory Stokes who, as first officer, turned to the Boatswain who called the crew to order.  Brad watched the men as they climbed down from the rigging and appeared from below decks.  It took only a short time to get the entire crew assembled, including the Marine compliment on board; far too short a time for Brad's liking.  Brad’s fellow Lieutenants came to stand beside the midshipmen.  Brad tried to catch their eyes but they spared him not a single glance and Brad’s heart sank further.

"I'm sure that the events of yesterday have been repeated in every corner of the ship, no matter that I asked that the details be kept quiet," the Captain began, his voice carrying easily over the hushed crew, "But I found out years ago that it's the nature of men to talk and I cannot hold that against you.  Further, I’m sure that the story has grown and changed as stories are wont to do.  Why this very morning my steward told me that I looked well for a man who had fought off an army of a hundred men!"

There was a spate of stilted laughter at that and Brad rolled his eyes.  The Captain would never win his crew over with his humour.  They respected him, _barely_ , and feared him, but they'd never flock to his side.

The Captain's smile died on his face and he continued, "However, this is not a time for levity.  Yesterday, Lieutenant Bradley Bell, a loyal member of my crew, or so I thought, until he perpetrated a heinous attack on myself and Major Devere.  I was shocked when the Lieutenant attacked us.  Salt sickness, perhaps?  I am not a medical man to judge such things but I cannot and will not stand for such disloyalty aboard my ship.  It is not customary to punish officers with more than a stoppage of wages and a slap on the wrist but I cannot let this treachery go unpunished.  Not when the next target might be one of the men under my command," he shook his head, "I will not see you, my men, injured or endangered by a traitor within our own ranks."

The crew murmured their agreement but Brad was no fool. The Captain could have said anything, he could flay the skin from Brad's back or hang him from the yardarm, and the men would do nothing to stop him.  Captains such as Chester ruled with their fists, their temper and were like unto God Almighty on the decks of their ships. 

Behind Chester, his officers looked sickened.  Stokes, in particular, seemed conflicted and he opened his mouth, but his eyes found the neat red rows of Marines and whatever he had intended to say died unspoken.

"I thought long and hard about how to discipline Lieutenant Bell for his attack both myself and Major Devere without provocation and I have decided to sentence the Lieutenant to twenty-seven strokes of the whip upon his bared skin, one for each knot of the cat," the Captain announced.

Brad's jaw dropped a fraction at the pronouncement, not in shock really, for he knew that the Captain would try something like this, but rather because the crew were nodding along with not a word of a protest on their lips.  The officers, for their part, stood slack jawed and appalled.  Stokes stepped forward, a half formed ‘Captain’ on his lips but Devere stepped in close and met the Lieutenant’s eyes and Stokes stopped in his tracks.  It was sickening, how thoroughly the Captain and his allies had the crew cowed.

"But," the Captain held up a hand, "It would be improper for this punishment to be delivered by the Boatswain, a non-commissioned officer who stands so far below the Lieutenant in rank.  Indeed, it would be uncomfortable even for an officer to carry out this punishment, so I have asked Major Devere if he would consent to deliver the Lieutenant's punishment and he has graciously agreed to my request."

The officers looked to each other, eyes wide at this gross deviation from Naval decrees but a single look from the Captain and they settled.  The Midshipmen glanced at Brad but before they could meet his eye, looked away again.

The men were equally unsettled about the Captain’s announcement and there was a murmur of discontent but a few quiet words from Hawkes and his ilk quickly smoothed those wrinkled sails.  Brad's stomach lurched and dread settled around his spine as the stark reality of his situation sank in.  The Captain was right on several counts: it was unheard of to punish officers for any crimes that they might be suspected instead of dragging them to port and sitting them down in front of a board of inquiry or a court-martial: that Boatswain Smith, a sound and weathered man of advanced years, would be uncomfortable delivering the punishment but still, to hand the cat to Devere?  It was unthinkable; a gross breach of Naval tradition.  Surely some member of the crew, some officer, would object and save him from the Captain's judgement.  Brad looked around no one would meet his eyes.  Not even Stokes.  The Major approached and Brad let his eyes drift closed, offering up a prayer.

"Beg, Bell, beg and I might go easy on you," Devere's breath tickled over his ear, a mockery of a caress and Brad shivered.  "Beg and maybe I'll ask the Captain to reduce the number."

Brad opened his eyes and glared up at Devere, harnessing every morsel of hatred in his soul, "It'll snow in Hell before I beg you for anything, Devere!"

"Don’t make promises you can’t keep, boy.”

The Captain's voice broke the tension between them, "I want him stretched out and ready to receive his punishment.  Throw a rope over the yardarm and fetch chainshot for weights.  Boatswain Smith, make up a fresh cat for the Major's use."

The men hopped to and Brad found himself untied and being summarily marched down the stairs to the main deck where men were preparing everything as the Captain ordered.  Brad threw off their hands and walked under his own power, his head held high.  He made to remove his shirt but Devere was before him.  His shirt was ripped from his shoulders, shredded even before he could reach for the buttons.  Then there were hands on his wrists, binding them to the rope flung across the beam.  It took two attempts for the man in the rigging to catch it but finally he dropped the rope down and it was pulled taut.  Brad tottered on the tips of his toes, but Devere gestured to the men to pull him higher and higher until Brad hung by just his arms.  Brad's breath came in harsh gulps as he hung, stretched out and it would only get worse.  Men moved in with the heavy chainshot, two 12 pound shot connected by a thick chain, but Devere stopped them.

"All of it.  Strip him."

"Sir?" Boatswain Smith looked at Devere, clearly not understanding the Major's orders.

Even the crew stirred at that order, unsettled as the Major smirked at Brad.  This was outside the bounds of propriety, outside the rules of the Navy and common decency and the men were not happy.

The Major sneered down at the Boatswain, "This man attacked your Captain.  I don't care one whit for his delicate sensibilities.  Strip him bare and I'll cover him with welts from chin to shin, unless you want to hang by his side?"

The Boatswain hesitated but a moment longer, looking away as he stepped to.  With a firm grip, he grabbed the back of Brad's breeches and yanked them down to his ankles.  Brad bit his lip against the curses that threatened to erupt and just narrowed his eyes at Devere's gloating face.  He would have his revenge on this petty tyrant, no doubt about that.  His shoulders were already starting to hurt.  Now that the chainshot were attached to his ankles, it wasn't simply his own weight hanging from his wrists.  He clenched his teeth and tried to shift but there was only pain, no relief. 

It wasn’t just that that ate at Brad.  Hanging there naked, Brad felt as if he were back to his very first commission, back to the wet-behind-the-ears ensign without the wit to take shelter from a storm.  There was nowhere to hide here, nothing to shelter him from the crew’s eyes or from Devere’s cruel hand.  Control was slipping away from Brad, control of the whirling emotions that he was feeling and control of himself and there was nothing that he could do but hang here and weather whatever Devere laid down.

"A bucket of salt water, Boatswain Smith.  Cold as you can," ordered the Major.

"Aye, sir."

Brad watched as Devere made a great show of unfurling the cat and swinging it, then rolling his shoulder and flexing his hand.  It gave Brad a warm feeling to see the pain cross Devere's face as he tried to grip the cat's solid wooden handle.  Obviously, Brad's attack had injured more than the man's pride, but that meant Brad wasn't the only one set on revenge.  Devere dipped the cat in the bucket of salt water and it was saturated through when he raised it, leaving it to drip menacingly on the deck as he met Brad's eye and mouthed a single word, "Beg!"

Brad would not.  He faked a yawn, "Today if you please, Major.  I've heard that Cookie is serving roast beef tonight and I'd like to get down at a reasonable hour."

Devere stepped behind Brad and Brad tried to keep from tensing up as the first stroke came.  Brad's head snapped back as he screamed with a silent voice.  Pain didn't come close to describing this sensation.  Agony was much too mild a word for the burn that seared through his skin and down into the muscle below.  He fancied he could feel every knot on every strand as the cat struck and each droplet of water tracing down his spine in the aftermath. He hoped that it was water.  Perhaps it was blood.  No.  No, it was too soon for blood, or so Brad hoped.

There was another splash as the cat was soaked again and then the slow drip as Devere let the tension rise and then another blazingly precise strike.  Brad bit down on the scream that rose from his gut, splitting his lip.  He could feel the heat starting to rise through his abused flesh and he closed his eyes against the urge to beg and plead.  Only two strokes gone with twenty five to go.  God help him but he already knew that he was going to break, body and mind, but damned if Devere wouldn't work for it.

A third came and then a fourth, with a fifth fast on its heels and Brad’s skin split wide open and warm, fresh blood started to run down his back as his shoulders burned.  Brad clenched his hands around his bindings, gripping tight to the ropes, distracting himself from his back with the minor pain from the rough feel of the hemp on his skin and lifting himself a fraction to take some of the pressure off his shoulders.  He dragged his nail against the rope, bending it back further and further as a painful counterpoint to the agony of his back until it snapped and tore free, snagging on the thick hemp.  Wet warmth ran over his finger as another strike landed, lower this time but as powerful a blow as any other and Brad bucked in place.

Tears ran from his eyes and he cursed the successful spawning that had resulted in the Captain's birth, he cursed the man's mother, his father, his grandmothers and as far back as Brad could think before the next stroke broke him from his thoughts.  Before he could bite it back, the cry echoed out, loud and clear.  Once the dam was broken, it could not be mended and with every stroke, his screams rose to the sky, praying and sobbing for an end to come.

Seven strokes, nine, eleven and Brad was sorely tempted to beg for relief from the violence, the beating but to do so would go contrary to his very being, but he had seen men take this amount and double this with no more than a curse and he would do no less.  Steeling himself, he closed his eyes and just focused on breathing.  One breath and then the next.  Each a chore; an amazing feat worthy of Hercules himself.  Another breath and another.  And another but no amount of focus on his breathing exercises could ease the pain from his back or take the sting from the cat's kiss.

Fourteen strokes, fifteen, and at last, Brad screamed.  His shoulders finally betrayed him, separating with a sickening pop, surely loud enough to be heard clear around the world.  Pain doubled, tripled in that instant and Brad couldn't even draw breath. 

Brad broke. 

Silent pleas fell escaped his lips but there was no one near enough to see; the entire crew was focused on Devere and his mastery over the whip.  Brad tried again, forcing air from his lungs and finally produced a sound that was not animalistic screaming.

"Please..."

But again, his voice was whisper soft and lost under the sound of wet rope against flesh.  Brad tried again, but another sound drowned out his cries this time.  A voice, a shout that did not come from him and though it shouldn't, it gave him hope.  Only the thinnest sliver of wild, irrational hope but possibly, possibly…

"Ship to stern, Captain, closing fast."


	3. Under Friend's Colours

**13th May 1705**   
**Aboard the _HMS Revenge_ , **   
**26 Leagues Nor’-Nor’-East of Eleuthera**

 

“Colours, what colours is she flying?” the Captain’s voice echoed through the silence.  “Damn it all, what do you see?”

“British, sir, she flies the Ensign.  No name visible yet,” the man in the crow’s nest called back down.  “Closing fast”

“To stations, men,” Lieutenant Stokes cried, desperation and - did Brad imagine it? - hope colouring his words before the Captain’s voice cut across him ordering the men to stand firm and continue as they were. It was an order that Devere seemed all too willing to follow.

Nothing could dull this pain and he had no energy left to even attempt to resist Devere's next stroke.

A shock of liquid fire washed over his torn skin and darkness started to close in around the edges of his vision and unconsciousness welcomed him to its deep dark depths.  Brad fought the darkness, trying to simply focus on the herculean task of drawing air into his lungs.  He braced himself against the next lash of the whip but for the longest time, none came.  Brad looked around, or tried to, and saw the Boatswain being taken to task for something.  Brad's eyes focused on the bucket in his hand, empty now and it took several seconds of concentrated effort to recognise that the boatswain had poured water, cool, refreshing water, over his back.  He might have thought the act a mercy but Brad had several vile and nasty thoughts on the matter.  

"You dare interrupt Major Devere?" the Captain's voice was booming to Brad's ears, "And to lay hands upon him?  I've hung men for less on this ship, and well you know it."

"Aye, Captain, and I meant no disrespect, sir, but the rules are clear.  Major Devere, sir, well...  Not to malign the Major..." Smith seemed to be considering his answer with great care.

"Spit it out, man.  I don't have all day to stand around here trying to get some sense from you."

"The Major landed the last blow on the Lieutenant's kidneys, sir," Smith said standing firm and facing the Captain down, and Brad could see that the men were behind him, but the Captain's blood was up and it was a foolish man who made himself a target.  Smith was far from a fool though.  He was, ordinarily, a quiet man, temperate as one could be aboard a ship, but moral, very much so, and the crew respected the man.  Every man Jack amongst the crew had doubtless worked out that if the Captain was willing to suspend all honourable rules for one of his officers, then the Captain could easily do worse to a mere seaman the next time they stepped a fraction from the Naval line.  "Rules say that we, that is to say that any man duly appointed to deal out discipline to the crew should take care not to hit a man in the kidneys on account of the dangers, sir."

"Damn the rules, man," the Captain started, but his voice trailed off as the crew’s discontent found voice in a dark rumble of sound, "Major Devere knows better than you how to whip a man, Boatswain Smith, and while you no doubt take your station seriously, that is no excuse to lay hands on an officer.  I understand that haste makes fools of men, but I believe this is the second time that you stood against the Major.  There best not be a third time, Boatswain.  Am I understood?"

The men pressed closer and the tension hung in the air like a miasma of menace.  A single spark was all that was needed to ignite the powder keg.

"Aye, sir.  Your pardon, Mister Devere," Smith's voice was low but Brad heard the insincerity clearly.

The brief diversion over, Brad braced himself for the next strike, casting up a silent prayer that the respite would lessen the impact.  Seventeen strokes of the lash gone and ten more to deliver.  Brad would break again - it was inevitable now - and it was only by the grace of God that Devere had not heard him beg before but by God and by the Virgin, Brad would hold his tongue as long as he could.

"Any word on that ship," the Captain called up to the rigging, almost as an afterthought.

"Captain, she's tacking," a watchman called back down, "We can make out part of the name.  The M-A.  That's all we can see, sir."

"What is she?"

"She's got the lines of a barque, sir," came the answer.

"A barque, eh?" the Captain chuckled, "That'll be the Maidstone then, with Captain Fraizer on board.  Good solid man, Fraizer.  Never did mind a good, old-fashioned whipping.  Carry on Major.  Don't spare the lash, eh?"

Brad didn't close his eyes this time, instead looked out to the horizon, beyond the men with their pitying faces to the blue seas beyond.  The water gleamed white, clean and blindingly beautiful and for a moment Brad was lost in the wonder of it, taking refuge in the vista while the Major made a production of dunking the cat in the salt water and shaking it once to let the water splash on the deck.  Brad cried out as the stroke fell, and then again as he bucked in his bonds.  He was cold now, so cold that he was shivering where he hung, his teeth chattering or at least, he thought he must be cold because of the shivering, but even through the cold the fire of his back burned him to his core, and he felt light, so light that he could well float away.  He gripped the ropes around his arms with all the strength he had left and watched the waves off to starboard.

Time stopped having meaning for Brad as he watched the sea ebb and flow, tiny waves breaking to white foam tops.  Between one blink and another, punctuated by the crack of the cat, a ship appeared in his vision, white sails and flying the Ensign.  Brad blinked again and it was gone only to appear once more.  Some half-forgotten memory in the back of Brad's mind demanded attention, unease running through him as he stared at the ship.  Sounds were coming from behind him, from all around him, sounds of panic and action but Brad couldn't summon the energy even to turn his head.  The ship before him was different now, but his mind struggled to pinpoint what exactly had changed.  He was warm, feverishly so and fire burned in his veins, stealing thought and emotion.  It was with indifference that he looked over the ship’s fine lines and sturdy stature.  She was a barque and no doubt, two masts with strong sails and men all-but-running up the rigging lines.  To Brad's eye they looked to be setting full sail, but that couldn't be the case as surely their sails were already full?  Brad shook his head a fraction and blinked.  When his eyes opened this time, the ship was almost within boarding range and white sailcloth flowed into black, filling as the breeze caught them.  Brad frowned as his mind struggled furiously to understand what was unfolding before his very eyes. 

Black sails?  Why would a British ship fly black sails?  Only pirates shook out black sails.  So why had the Maidstone...?  The thought drifted off unfinished as Brad forced his mind into action.  M-A.  That was all that the watchman had seen and from that, the Captain had made an assumption, and a stupid one if this was indeed a pirate ship.  M-A.  Brad cast back through memories of dry briefings and portside gossip to try to figure out which ship sailed before them now but it was like walking through mud.  He could feel the name struggling to be called forward, hovering on the tip of his tongue but just far enough out of reach to be lost to him. 

He cast his eyes over the ship’s proud lines, searching for a hint, a clue, anything that might identify the ship and there, standing on the aft deck was a sight that made his heart chill.

He knew then what ship they faced, what ship it _must_ be, for legend and sense allowed no alternatives.  Dressed from head to toe in purest white, which was surely an affront to the man's soul, stood a figure intimately familiar from a thousand tales and one cursed by every navy this side of the ocean and the other; Captain Adam Lambert, master of _The Madness_.

 _The Madness_ was known in every coastal tavern and inn in the known world, and her Captain was the most feared man on the seas.  Brave men quaked at the thought of facing him and women felt faint just at the thought of him.  Even Brad, though he wouldn't admit it, had spent many a lonely night curled up with the latest tales and the sketches of the villainous Captain.  Bloodthirsty as he unquestionably was and a rogue, the man had captured the imagination of a nation and the bounty on his head was enough to make a Queen blush, but to date, no one had even come close to capturing the man.  He was a ghost on the waves, a trickster and pirate of the highest order, and now he was attacking the _Revenge_.

Brad cursed his predicament, hanging naked, beaten and unable to lift even a finger in his own defence as pirates swung onboard to give the _Revenge_ a damned thorough pillaging.  Brad watched as Captain Lambert caught a free hanging rope, wrapped it casually around his wrist and swung over to land with cat-like grace on the deck of the _Revenge_.  The wind caught his shirt making the fabric flicker and flow, catching the sunlight and Brad's complete attention.  A second and Lambert was fully engaged in the melee, swinging his sword with grace and elegance.  Dark hair, blue-black in the light and peeking out from under his slightly cocked tricorn hat; he had perfect features, pretty and handsome and every other such word that Brad couldn't think of. 

It was Devere's man, Hawkes, who first met Lambert's blade, crumpling to the deck after a single stroke.  Around Lambert men fought and died but he was the calm in the centre of the maelstrom, meeting his opponents’ blades with calm precision and a delicate flick.  Brad envied the man's skill.  There was a nonchalance to his every move that Brad couldn't hope to emulate, despite his years of training.  The man's wide, heavy blade deflected the best swords the _Revenge_ ’s men could muster, leaving his opponents open and vulnerable.

The wiser elements of the crew skipped out of the dread pirate’s way as he glided across the deck and now there was a path open before Lambert.  Captain Chester stood at the other end of that path, cursing fit to raise hell, his sword dripping blood.  Chester’s back was to Brad but Brad could see the smirk on Lambert's face and the contempt in his eyes.  Lambert didn't rate the Captain, that was plain to see, but the pirate met him regardless.  The first stroke was Captain Chester's but Lambert parried easily.  The next exchange was no different; an underhanded slash from Chester met easily and cast aside.  It seemed to Brad that Lambert was toying with the Captain and as the so-called-fight went on, it became clearly evident that Chester was out-classed.  With Chester still carrying injuries from earlier, he was at a distinct disadvantage but the only one who didn't seem to realise that was Chester himself.  Lambert drew first blood and second, dancing out of the way as the Captain retaliated wildly. 

Brad hissed as Chester's blade sliced through Lambert's shirt, baring a stripe of midriff.  Lambert stopped dead and looked down at the ruin of his shirt and there was momentary pause; that was it.  Chester’s period of grace was over and when Lambert struck this time his face was set and his blade was true.  Chester was bleeding already but the previous drip-drip-drip rhythm was nothing to the geyser left in the wake of Lambert's sword as it practically severed the Captain's sword arm.  Chester didn't have long to suffer though, much to Brad's displeasure, as Lambert ended it quickly, stepping in close and using Chester's distraction to drive his sword straight through the other man’s midsection and out his back.

Lambert kicked the former Captain off his blade, lip curled in contempt and turned to face the crew, "Your Captain is dead.  Lay down your weapons, surrender or we'll slaughter every last man aboard."

Stokes’ answer was instantaneous, "I'm the senior officer aboard the ship.  You have our surrender."

"Damned if you do," Devere growled out, stumbling as he made his stand, his sword clutched in his hand and his other hand clutched his arm which was hanging loosely by his side, shirt drenched in blood.  His own, Brad noted with malicious joy.

"Dissention in the ranks," Lambert looked amused. "I expected better of a Navy ship.  Men, lay hold of the loud mouth."

Devere struggled but the pirates were ready for him and held him fast, grabbing him directly on the injury and pressing hard, if the screams were any indication.  Devere's predicament brought a smile to Brad’s lips.  A second later, Brad found himself staring into blue-blue eyes.  Lambert looked him up and down, taking in every detail with a single gaze.  Lambert clicked his fingers, without breaking eye contact and Brad felt himself being lowered to the deck.  The chainshot were removed from his ankles and he breathed a little easier.  His shoulders screamed as his feet found the deck and he buckled.  He cried out, not censoring himself, even as hands caught him and he looked into what his addled brain insisted were concerned eyes.

"What do we have here then?" Lambert asked.

Brad glared up at him, pouring every bit of vitriol left in him into that glare.  What a damned stupid question.  _What do we have here?_   The King of Belgium?  Why, no!  Brad had been tied to the crossbeams, weighed down and naked.  His back was laid open and he was awash with blood.  Good Lord above, but if the man couldn't put one and one together and see what was happening, then Brad had severely overestimated him.

"And he has spirit," Lambert smiled widely and Brad rolled his eyes.  "Boys, I think we have our prize."


	4. Gentle Hands

**13th May 1705**   
**Aboard the _HMS Revenge_ , **   
**28 Leagues Nor’-Nor’-East of Eleuthera**   


 

Prize?  _Prize_?  Brad looked down at himself and then back up at Lambert.  If Brad was Lambert's definition of a prize, then pickings must be slim out on the waves. 

_'The man, pretty as he is, must be lacking in wits,'_ Brad thought. 

Lambert hunkered down beside Brad and reached out to push sweat-drenched strands of hair from Brad's eyes, "It's a shame to see the shine taken from one so beautiful as yourself, but good to know that they have not broken you yet.  That strength will serve you well, I think."

Brad's eyebrow rose sharply.  If Lambert had tried to lay the flattery on any deeper, he would have needed a shovel.  Brad, though thankful for the intervention, could feel suspicion rising.  The pirates stood, not relaxed but ready, their eyes on their Captain even as they talked with the Navy men.  Their swords were unsheathed and still clutched tightly in their hands.  Brad considered the man beside him but no matter how he looked, Lambert failed to measure up to the ghostly figure that dominated the monstrous tavern tales.  Had he gotten it wrong?  Had his addled mind connected the wrong name with the face before him?  No.  No, that wasn't possible.  Lambert, or the man he assumed to be Lambert, was dressed in spotless white.  Even his hat, which hadn't been disturbed in the least during the fight, was white with intricate lacework at the brim and adorned with two pure white feathers that extended at least a half foot above Lambert’s already impressive height.

"You..." Brad tried and failed to speak, his voice catching in the ruin of his throat.

There was a man there instantly with a cup of rum and Brad eyed it before gulping it down, every last drop.  His stomach rolled but settled and some of the fire in his back died down to mere embers. 

"Y... You have me at a dis... disadvantage, sir," Brad's voice was scarce above a rasp.

"Ah, my manners," Lambert flushed and doffed his hat, bowing his head a fraction as if they were meeting at some dinner function rather than Brad kneeling naked on a bloody deck with the pirate looming over him, "Captain Adam Lambert, Master of _The Madness_ and most wanted pirate on the high seas, and I am here to offer you a berth aboard my ship.  The offer, of course, extends to your crew as well, but you, Mister Bell, are my primary target."

Brad made to say something rude but his own spit turned traitor and he found himself coughing.  His hands clenched against the pain as the spasms of his chest made the torn flesh of his back jump.  Damn it all to hell, but he hurt.  Lambert's hands were on him at once, bracing Brad's chest against Lambert’s shoulder.  Brad cried out as Lambert gripped his dislocated shoulders.  If he'd had use of his arms, he would have pushed the man away, but as it was, he was forced to endure the manhandling.  When he had his breath back, there would be words, and nasty ones, about this.  Brad drew in air, deep as he could and tried to force his lungs back into submission. 

"Easy, Bell, easy now.  You've been through quite an ordeal by the looks of you."

Brad turned to glare up at Lambert, "Oh really?  Have I?  Well, blow me!  Here was me thinking that I'd simply tripped and fallen into the bloody rigging and that lying sod of a Major was simply tickling me to help me get free.  Was that not the case?  Well, thank you, Captain Lambert, thank you for telling me that I've been through _quite an ordeal_.  Without that sparkling insight, I would never have known.  Do you have any other interesting observations to make, like the sea is wet or that you shouldn’t stare too long at a gull’s arse or else you'll have gull shit in your mouth?"

Lambert's eyes widened and Brad momentarily considered that perhaps he'd gone too far, but that thought was quickly buried.  So far today, he'd been backed into a corner and the lowest scum on the seas had tried to take him against his will, he'd been tied up, his head had been bashed against the mast, then he'd been put through a farce of a judgment, stripped naked, bound and his back flayed raw, bleeding, and with his skin in ribbons.  Adding ‘murdered’ to the list didn't seem too big of an issue.  His day was bad enough already that it seemed as if being killed might actually be the high point of his day.

"And another thing..." Brad started but he was cut off by tremors running through him.

Brad tried to brace himself, but after a second realised that the tremors weren't coming from him, but rather from Lambert.  Had he so enraged the man that he was suffering a fit?

_'Well,'_ he thought, _'this is it.  May the Saviour spare my mother from heartache and may God strike down every damned bastard who had part in this.'_

Brad looked up at Lambert again, determined to meet his fate bow first and with his sails filled, but what he saw when he looked at the man's face...  Well...  Brad could not believe it.  The man was _laughing_ at him.  What sort of a man laughed at a misfortune such as the one that Brad had faced.  That cad, that unbelievable cur.  Brad's eyes narrowed and he pushed through the pain enough to slap the man's arm, his temper the only thing keeping him from showing how much the effort cost him.

"How dare you, sir!" Brad railed at the man, "How very dare you laugh at me!  If I had my full faculties, I'd see you on your arse with my sword at your throat.  Devil take you, pirate.  Unhand me this instant!"

But Lambert's laughing got louder and seemed to come from the belly as he chuckled. 

"Damn, boy, but you've got enough spirit for the entire Navy," Lambert said as he started to calm down, "It's going to be interesting once we get you aboard."  He looked over Brad's shoulder to one of his men, "Tommy, have you called for Maya?"

There was a huff of indignation and then a low deep voice answered, "Yes, Captain.  She'll be here once the gangplank is fixed in place."

"Good, good.  I'd like to be away as soon as we can.  Have the men strip the ship," Lambert ordered the pirates around him.  "Everything of value."

"Aye sir," Tommy answered, "Everything not nailed and then we'll get the hammers."

Lambert looked down at Brad again and smiled, "Maya is our surgeon, better than any in the Navy and more fearsome too.  I swear if people knew precisely how terrifying she was, it would be her they'd talk about in taverns and not me."

“A woman as a surgeon?” Brad barked a laugh, “I’m broken, not with child!”

“I wouldn’t say that in her earshot,” Lambert warned, “On my ship, I award ability, not gender, nor any other physical attribute.  Maya has been on my ship for over a year and I find her abilities second to none.  Has every man aboard cowed, myself included though I hesitate to admit it.”

Brad doubted that, but he had no wish to talk any further with the man.  Not after he had laughed at him. 

"Well, Captain, if I terrify you so well, then tell me why you keep getting yourself into trouble?"

Brad looked up and into the face of a formidable looking Caribbean woman.  She was larger than most of the society women at home, both in height and in girth, but she wore her stature with confidence and experience. Instantly, Brad knew that arguing with her would be a lost battle no matter how well he structured his argument.  She wore bright colours and she had the quality of 'mother' suffusing her very being.  Behind her, Brad saw the navy men crossing themselves and spitting on the deck.  A single look from Maya had them scrambling for work and Brad had to admire that.  When she turned her eye to him, however, there was something to that look, something forlorn with a touch of anger behind it but not, he thought, directed at him.

He moved his hands as best he could to cover himself.  Whether or not she was a competent surgeon remained to be seen but she was most emphatically a woman.  Brad would rather not embarrass himself or discomfort the woman if he could help it, and for him to be unclothed as she came close...  His mother would have his hide.

" _Agwé’s Seas_ child, what have they done to you?  Let Maya take a look and get you fixed up," she knelt down beside him and gently, so gently took him from Lambert's grasp.  "Adam-lad, go find something to cover the poor boy.  There's a dreadful chill in this sea air."

There wasn't but Brad appreciated the gesture and her compassion.  By now, Brad guessed that there wasn't a soul aboard who hadn't seen him at his worst.  His modesty was long lost but the single gesture from this strange woman meant more to him than he could express.  It was this sentiment that kept him silent as she started to probe the edges of his torn skin.  Her nails felt like pokers straight from the fire as they touched his back.  He bit his lip, repeating over and over in his mind that it would be unseemly to curse while this lady was holding him. 

"I know, child, I know the pain you're in," she whispered and only the breeze carried them to his ear, "Tell me, how many fell?"

"Seventeen by my count but there could have been more," Brad looked down at the deck, "My mind wasn't with me for the last."

"And is it any wonder?" she sucked in a breath, "Whoever did this was a cruel and vicious brute."

"You've met him then," Brad tried for humour.

"No, boy, but I'll be meeting him before his Maker gets him, be sure of that," her voice was like steel and Brad had to admit that he was almost tempted to leave Devere to her less-than-tender mercies.  "But don't you fear, child, I won't steal your right of revenge, my word on that.  I may soften him up for you though."

"I almost feel sorry for him," Brad smiled and then winced as Maya found a flap of skin that needed to be laid flat.  "On second thoughts, possibly not."

"That's the spirit, boy."

The examination was interrupted as Lambert brought a length of sailcloth over and Maya wrapped it around his hips, allowing as much modesty as a scrap of cloth could offer while she continued to check his injuries.  It was his shoulders that caused him the most trouble.  It hurt to raise his arms even an inch, and while he could move his forearms without much pain, his upper arms may as well been made from molten lead.  Maya hummed under her breath as she worked, a song that Brad vaguely recognised. 

"This is going to hurt, child," Maya warned him as she beckoned Lambert over along with another man, one Brad guessed to be roughly his height with a shock of blond hair and enough knives to hold an entire fort at bay.  "Adam-lad,” she caught herself, “Captain, Tommy, we're going to have to fix up his shoulders.  I'll need you to hold him firm."  She turned back to Brad, "Curse all you need.  Isn't anything I haven't heard a thousand times before."

"Not from me, madam," Brad answered through gritted teeth as hands grasped his shoulders, finding whatever purchase they could given the condition of his back.

"Keep that spirit, child," Maya chuckled, "You'll need it in a few moments."

She took a firm grip of his arm and lifted it, rotating it back and forward, up and down until... 

CLICK-POP!

"BASTARD SON OF A HORSE-STEALING GYPSY THIEF!  Christ and his angel's, woman, they call you surgeon, they should call you torturer instead!"

"Not bad, child," Maya laughed and took hold of his other arm.  "Only one left to fix."

Her grip was powerful enough to make him wince and once more Brad retreated into sarcasm, "Only one, by God, I should hope so otherwise I would have to have words with my mother about her choice in.... HOLY MOTHER OF THE DIVINE, WOMAN, DID SATAN PUT YOU ON THIS EARTH HIMSELF?"

Brad clutched his arms to himself as soon as she released him, recoiling back before her mind spewed forth any other ideas that were bound to cause him even more pain.  It took a second to realise that, though painful, he could move his arms.  It was only then that he offered up a silent apology to the Creator for taking his name and the names of the other members of the Holy Family in vain.  His mother would be ashamed of him for his language but frankly, just at present, he couldn’t give a damn! 

"We need to get him back to _The Madness_ , Captain.  His back needs to be cleaned and dressed and he needs to rest," Maya said softly.

"Your pardon one moment, madam," Brad spoke up, "But I haven't exactly agreed to come with you, Captain, unless you intend on kidnapping me?"

"I'd prefer not to," Lambert shrugged, "But tell me, Bell, what precisely holds you here?"

"I made oaths to the Queen and the Admiralty and to my family.  Does your word mean so little to you that you cannot understand that?" Brad demanded.

Anger flashed across Lambert's face, "I understand honour better than you suppose, Lieutenant Bell, but while Maya assessed you, I've had a chance to talk to the members of your crew, the men under your command, and I know what happened here today.”

Brad frowned at that. Even with his participation in Brad’s care, Lambert had been on the _Revenge_ for mere minutes, not nearly long enough for him to prise the information from the crew.

“Would you stay in the service of those who so blindly stood by and watched the injustice unfold without raising a finger or even uttering a whisper of contention?  If you would, then you're not the man who was described to me."

_That_ stopped Brad cold, "And who precisely described me to you?"

Lambert looked around, "That's not a conversation for an open deck, Mister Bell.  We can talk of many things later but let's first settle the matter of whether you are to be kidnapped by force or with your cooperation."

Brad was curious now, damned curious, and he wanted those answers, "Very well.  I'll come with you.  But if I don't like your answers, then at the first port we land at, I will be leaving your ship and any man who stands in my way..."

Brad left it hanging, the threat implicit.  He saw no need to mention that no matter the outcome of that conversation, his intention was to jump ship at the first opportunity.

"Good then," Lambert smiled, "That being settled, let's get you over to _The Madness_."

Scarcely had Brad given his consent before Lambert's hands were under his armpits and Maya was ready to steady him as he lifted Brad to his feet.  He felt weak as a first-time Ensign but he was not willing to fall on his face in front of both crews and the maddening Captain.  It took Brad a couple of steps to find his balance, but once he did, he pushed away the helping hands.  Maya stepped back a fraction but Lambert stayed right at his side, hovering like an over-sized mother-hen.  Brad glared at the man, but he did nothing to step away.

"Before we go, I find I have one matter unresolved.  Might I have permission to settle it before we leave?" Brad asked through his teeth.

Lambert looked at him, almost as if he were taking measure of Brad's intentions, and nodded.

"Where is Major Devere?" Brad asked of the men around them.

Devere fought every step of the way but the men who held him, mostly the crew of the _Revenge_ Brad noted, brooked none of his attempts to free himself.  Boatswain Smith was holding Devere’s arm and as he struggled Smith kicked him behind the knee. 

Brad drew himself up as he faced the man.  His uniform, or what of it he had been wearing when they'd been attacked, was filthy and there was a nasty bruise starting to rise on the man's cheek.  His right shirt sleeve was drenched in red and through a rip in the fabric, Brad could see the sword slash which had almost disabled the arm.  The Major was a pathetic figure, standing here at the mercy of men he had deemed unworthy to clean his boots and Brad thrilled to see him so broken.  Inspiration struck and his smile turned vicious.

"Tell me, Major," Brad drew out his words, relishing the reversal of power, "Do you swim?"

"What?" Devere looked at him, bewildered.

"The question is simple enough.  Surely a few trifling cuts aren't enough to scramble your brains.  _Do you swim, Major_?" his voice turned hard.

"No," Devere shook his head, "Of course not."

"Wonderful," Brad turned slightly and with a speed that he knew that he'd pay for later, snagged the dagger tucked into Lambert's sword belt.

No one moved to stop him as he walked forward, each step deliberate and carefully measured.  He stopped in front of Devere and looked up into the man's sneering face.  Brad could read the thoughts there.  Devere was mocking him, thinking that he wouldn't drive the knife in through his cold and blackened heart, and he was right.  Such a quick death was much too merciful for Devere. 

Brad gripped the hilt of the dagger firmly and stepped closer until they were sharing the same air and then stabbed up.  Devere's mouth dropped open and he drew in a long, whistling breath and toppled forward, but the men were ready to catch him and hold him fast.  Brad yanked the dagger side-to-side and then wrenched it down.  Blood dripped over his hand, slicking the hilt of the blade.  Brad left the dagger where it was and stepped back.

The men not holding Devere shivered and crossed themselves, clutching their crotches protectively. 

"Oh by the Saints," Maya broke the silence.

Brad turned his back on the Devere and walked to Lambert’s side, "Apologies for stealing your blade, Captain Lambert.  I don't imagine you want it back, not now that it's been soiled, so it appears that I owe you a blade."

Brad looked up at Lambert's face and caught the wince as the pirate saw exactly where the hilt sat.  Brad smirked as he looked over his shoulder.  One thing was certain, even if some Divine intervention allowed Devere to survive, he'd never have either the ability or the inclination to try to take another by force. 

"You can toss him overboard now, Captain Lambert."

Lambert snapped his fingers and Devere was sent sailing over the railing, blade and all.  The splash was magnificent and Brad crossed to look down into the sea.  There was a half splintered piece of wood by his foot and Brad kicked it out to the floundering Major.  It landed short, just out of reach, and exactly as Brad had intended.  Dizziness rocked Brad’s balance but the giddy rush of victory kept him upright.

"A suggestion for you, Major," Brad called, "Think hard on your sins and think quick.  The sharks won't wait long before they start circling."

Devere seemed to curse but the words were lost as water splashed over the man's head and he started to sink.  Brad watched the man struggle, straining to reach the wood even as his thrashing pushed it farther away with every effort but Brad was starting to feel the darkness closing in.

"Well, Captain, now that the matter of my outstanding issue has been resolved, I believe that I'm ready to board _The Madness_ ," Brad announced.

Lambert was still staring at the Major drowning by degrees.  He looked at Brad and there was something indiscernible in his expression that Brad couldn't quite read, "After what I just saw, I'm not sure _The Madness_ is ready for you.  Devil take me, but that was vicious."

Brad goggled at Lambert's words, " _You_ are calling _me_ 'vicious'?  You, who would cut off a finger to get the ring that sat upon it?  What sort of pirate do you call yourself?"

"There's a difference between a finger and... and... and a man's pride," Lambert shuddered, "Even in my worst days, I doubt that I would do such as that, although I will admit that you had a certain, shall we say, motivation?"

"I did," Brad admitted.  Lambert moved in closer, giving Brad his support as he walked Brad back towards _The Madness_ , "but honestly, Captain Lambert, it appears that if you wish to live up to your reputation, I shall have to school you in certain subjects.  Who would have known that you were quite so shy about inflicting such damage?  Up and down the coasts, what would they say if they knew that you had a line you would not cross?  Hardly the image you want for a pirate, is it?"  Brad’s voice wavered and it seemed to get darker, but still he kept talking, trying to cover this momentary lapse, "There is one thing that I must admit did not make it into the tales though."

"And what is that?" Lambert asked, amused.

"None ever mentioned how devil-damned..."


	5. An Overdue Conversation

**Sometime later**  
 **Aboard _The Madness_ , **  
**Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean**

 

"...Pretty you are.  Confound me, I feel like I've been run over by a farmer’s cart."

Brad opened his eyes against his better judgment and found himself staring at his pillow as it pressed tight to the bulkhead.  Something seemed wrong about that and it took Brad another moment to work out precisely why.  Last he remembered, he had been on the deck of the _Revenge_ and now he was lying on his stomach in his bunk.  Brad never slept on his stomach.  He was uncomfortable and there was a cold breeze playing across his legs making him shiver and his back felt heavy and wet.  With supreme effort, Brad turned his head and squinted, blinking gritty eyes. 

"This isn't my bunk."

"No."

Brad looked to the man sitting in the chair beside the door, working a whetstone over one of his blades.  He had to search for the man's name; Tommy, he thought it was.

"Where am I?" Brad asked, fearing the answer as he remembered the white figure of Captain Lambert and the pirates that took his ship.

" _The Madness_ ," was the only answer that came.

"And the _Revenge_?  What of her?"

"Limping toward port, most like."

Brad rolled his shoulders and winced as the joints protested and popped.  Pushing himself up on his arms, Brad swung himself until he was sitting upright, the sheet covering his lap.

"Maya said you're to stay in the bunk," Tommy paused in his task.

"Well, I can stay here and you're going to have to call for a crewman with a bucket or you can let me find the deck and relieve myself," Brad squared his shoulders and put on his most commanding air.

Tommy gestured, "There's a bucket by your feet."

Brad eyed the bucket and was unimpressed, but there was little he could do for the moment.  In truth, he could probably hold his water for a time, but he was eager to see around the ship, to get up and moving and healed.  Besides, there was still a conversation he needed to have with Lambert and damned if he was putting _that_ off any longer than he had to. 

"How long have I been here?" Brad asked as he drained the ballast.

"Ten days."

"TEN DAYS?" Brad was shocked. 

"Is Maya due soon?" he asked.

"Maybe," Tommy answered, still not giving up more than a single word.

This was like trying to have a conversation with a fish, but Tommy was less forthcoming.  Brad sighed again and started to pace.  The movement made the skin on his back pull and the sheet was brushing against the lower wounds, but Brad was restless.  Ten days.  Ten days he'd been here and he had no idea where here was.  His only companion was this surly one-named seaman.  Brad shook his head, this promised to be a very long day. 

Paranoid little devil he was and no mistake, but at least now he had some chance of intelligent conversation.

"Ah, you're awake," Lambert smiled and Brad turned to face the man, "At long last.  How are you feeling?"

"Like I need some breeches," Brad said, almost under his breath, then louder, "Wonderful.  Positively magnificent."

Lambert laughed and dismissed Tommy with a wave of his hand.  Maya humphed and directed Brad back to the bed where she poked him, prodded him and clucked over everything until finally, she rubbed something cold as frost on his back.  Brad closed his eyes at the first cool touch.  Whatever it was, it was heaven and Brad couldn't hold back the quiet moan that escaped. 

"It's healing well, boy," Maya nodded, "but you had me worried there for a while.  When you decided to dive for the deck back on your old ship, it was only the Captain here that kept you from dashing your brains out.  When you go down, child, you're stubborn as an ox about it.  I couldn't wake you that first night no matter what I tried, but that was probably for the best.  The fever you were running was a terrible thing and it took every remedy I had to break it.  After that, well, if the Saints wanted you asleep then who was I to argue with them?  Gave you the time you needed to heal yourself.  May Petro find your Major, hang him by his toes and flay him until he screams for mercy.  Why that no-good-son-of-a-"

Lambert laid a hand on her arm and her words trailed off.  Brad turned to look at Maya.  There was hatred on her face and a deep and heartfelt anger not directed at him, no, at something much deeper.

"I talked to your crewmates," her voice was little more than a whisper now, "The way that he wet the whip, the way that you were tied..." she shook her head and there were tears in her eyes.

Brad was at a loss for words, but Lambert wasn't, "Maya, why don't you go up on deck?  Get a little air.  I'll stay with Mister Bell."

Maya reached out and ran a hand over Lambert's face, "Thank you, Adam-lad.  You have your talk with the boy and I'll just..."

Lambert's hand caught Maya's as she started to stand and he kissed her palm, "Take as long as you need, Maya.  We'll be just fine."

She nodded and, after clearing away the jars that she'd brought with her, she left, pulling the door closed behind her.  Brad stared at it for a moment before looking back to Lambert.  There was definitely more to the man than stories told and Brad wondered just how deep he'd have to scratch to find out who the real man was.  The moment he'd shared with Maya was sweet, touching and so intimate that Brad felt that he was intruding, but there was no heat there, no passion, just love, and Brad wondered about their relationship. 

"Don't ask," Lambert held up a hand as Brad opened his mouth, "It's not my secret to share and I won't break her confidence."

Brad could respect that and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

"When we were on the deck of the _Revenge_ , I promised you an explanation," Lambert started, "and circumstances robbed us of the chance, but I promise you that I will explain.  However, several things have happened since you were brought aboard that you should know.  I'm not proud to say this, but on that first night as you rested in the surgeon's rooms, a member of the crew made to harm you, one of the men who came across from the _Revenge_.  We caught him in time and he's been... dealt with.  It seems like he was one of your Captain's cronies.  We moved you here straight away and put a guard on you just in case.  There've been no further attempts but you should be wary of any of the crew who served aboard the _Revenge_.  Don't trust one at your back unless you trust him with your life."

Brad wondered if the man was one of Hawkes’ associates and if so, how many of them were left aboard.  Caution was warranted, most definitely.

"There're very few I'd do that with," Brad admitted, "I was newly appointed to the ship and I admit that I hadn't made too many friends yet."

"I know," Lambert smiled. 

Brad fixed the man with a glare, "It seems as if you have several matters that you need to explain, Captain Lambert.  Perhaps you'd best start with exactly how you came to know so much about me."

There was a knock at the door just then and Lambert stood to open it.  Tommy stood in the doorway, balancing a tray loaded down with bowls of soup, thick slices of bread and an urn of coffee.  He put the tray on a small table and took his leave, pausing only to meet the Captain's eye and nod.  He closed the door behind him as he left.  Lambert brought the table over closer and pulled over the chair by the door to sit opposite Brad.  Brad was rather stunned by the food on offer.  This was as far from the usual offering onboard a Naval ship as you could get. 

Usually Brad counted himself lucky to get a cremated slice of beef and some slush that the cook swore was once an actual vegetable.  Apart from that, there was ship’s biscuit, which in many cases could have done better service if it were used as a weapon rather than something to eat.  Instead, here in front of him sat thick and hearty soup that smelled divine and, by the smell, freshly baked bread, and the coffee...  Brad would happily trade his soul for a cup just based on the smells rising from the urn.  Brad's eyes didn't leave the urn as Lambert poured, stopping when the cup was three-quarters full.  A cough from Brad had Lambert filling it the rest of the way, laughing lightly as he did.  Brad cradled his hands around the tin cup and breathed in the aroma before sipping the hot liquid down.  His eyes fluttered closed as the rich taste of coffee swirled around his mouth.  Turkish by the taste and freshly roasted.  When he opened his eyes, Lambert was looking at him, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. 

"Should I leave the two of you alone?"

Brad ignored the question, putting the cup aside and turning his attention to the food.  It was good faire, hearty and filling and filled with flavours, but the coffee was his treasure. 

"I notice that you haven't told me anything yet," Brad needled the man in front of him once their bowls were empty, "Is there some other distraction waiting in the wings or do you simply wish to put this off as long as possible?  I'm far from a fool, Captain Lambert, and I resent the fact that you seem intent on hiding the facts from me.  You attacked the _Revenge_ with the sole purpose of kidnapping me, or rescuing me rather.  You knew who I was, that much you've confirmed today and I find it hard to believe that all the information was gathered after the fact.  Credit me with some sense and explain yourself.  If you know anything about me, and you say you do, you must know about my family connections.  If I am reported missing, then there will be no force in Heaven or on Earth that will stop my family from searching for me and bringing those responsible to summary justice."

 "I'm aware of your connections, Bell.  An addle-brained infant would be able to piece together that you must be linked to the infamous Bell family whose pictures hang on the Admiralty walls," Lambert sat back in his chair, his own tin cup of coffee in his hand.  "But I doubt that they'll be searching the waves for you.  Not yet at any rate and once we make port a letter sent will assure them that you are in no danger."

"Perhaps I should start at the beginning," Lambert sighed.

"Perhaps you should," Brad agreed and refilled his cup.  He tucked the sheets around him tightly and sat back as comfortably as he could.  Lambert did not seem to be one for brevity and Brad would be as comfortable as his condition allowed while the man told his tale.

"Where to begin though, that's the question," Lambert’s voice faded to silence for a moment, "The roots of the matter, I suppose, are back on the small island of Cozumel.  You may not know it but it's a small island off the coast of Mexico.  It's largely deserted but there's a small Spanish bastion there.  _The Madness_ was posing as a Spanish merchant at the time.  We'd been fairly successful over the months before our visit there and we had a good haul that we needed to offload.  Best to do it with a colony that was behind on the latest news.  While we were there, a Spanish ship docked with an English ship trailing.  It turned out that the Spanish warship had just taken the surrender of the English officers and was looking for somewhere safe to hold them until the ransom came from the Admiralty.  The ship was the _Windsor Castle_ , a second rate ship with which you're no doubt familiar."

Brad nodded, "Aye.  That's the ship that my brother captains."

"Yes, and he was Captain of her then.  This was only about eight months ago, Mister Bell," Lambert sipped at his coffee.

Brad frowned.  Fear settled in the pit of his stomach, cold and heavy.  He'd heard nothing about his brother's capture or any request for ransom.  Eight months ago, he'd been stationed at an Admiralty desk as apprentice to one of the senior Admirals.  He’d heard of every capture and sinking within days, but nothing on the _Windsor Castle_.  Surely he would have heard such news.  The Admiralty was usually all aflutter with such things.  Was Alex alive?  Was he dead?  Had he missed the funeral?  Brad’s fingers curled in the sheet, trying to keep some control on his emotion.

“He was alive and well, and heading for Boston last I saw him,” Lambert assured him astutely.

Brad eased his grip a fraction and took a deep breath, releasing it and with it the fear for his brother.

"But we’re getting off course," Lambert put his empty cup aside and sat back in his chair once again, one ankle atop the opposite leg.  "We took little notice of the English ship, more concerned as we were with getting the best price for our goods and ensuring that none knew of our true affiliations.  However, we managed to get ourselves into a little trouble, or more accurately, I managed to get myself into an amount of trouble from which it wasn't easy to extricate myself.  The man in charge of the Spanish bastion had three children, each of whom would rival the old Gods in beauty, and I found myself quite taken by them.  The only one, however, who accepted my advances was his youngest.  A bright lad, sharp as a tack and with a head of blond curls that just begged for my fingers, a legacy from his mother, the daughter of a German merchant and a wonderful cook.  While my men negotiated, I met with the lad and we engaged in several acts of wanton lewdness that left both of us ...quite satisfied."

Brad's cheeks heated.  He'd never heard anyone come out and so brazenly state their sexual proclivities, and it wasn't just that.  The man made no apology for it, nor offered any excuse, and Brad found himself captivated by the images that flew through his head of the man before him losing himself to the heat of passion and desire.  Brad shifted delicately to hide any sign of his blood’s stirrings that might choose to make themselves known.

"In hindsight, we stayed too long at that port, but it wasn't often that we were in such honest company.  But... the situation was not quite so wonderful once the Spanish Commander found out," Lambert laughed weakly, "I found myself being carted away as his son accused me of seducing him to the devil.  They threw me in the stockade with the officers of the English ship and it was there that I met Alexander.  A fascinating man, your brother."

Brad gave up a silent breath that the next sentence from Lamberts mouth did not concern carnal relations with his brother.  That would be beyond the limits of endurance.

“We spoke long into the night every evening,” Lambert continued, “your brother and I, and spoke of everything we could think of, life, fortune, history and love.  He spoke of the difficulties that came from growing up in the shadow of a legacy, of his wish to spend more time with his wife, Isabella, and his newly born son.  A shame really that the sea keeps us so engaged and the Navy keeps him far from his home port.”  Lambert sighed, shrugging, “She’s a harsh mistress, duty, but one that keeps us close to her bosom.”

So far the details were correct, but idle chatter and gold-crossed palms could have freed up that information and extrapolation alone could have told him that growing up in a family such as the Bells was no easy job.  A Navy life, even a life as a merchant kept one from returning home on a whim.

“Mostly we spoke of Charles and of you,” Lambert tapped a rhythm on his boot with a thumb as he looked at Brad.  “Charles, he fears, will turn reckless in his chase to outshine those who came before but time and the Navy will set his sheets straight.  You, though, live in his thoughts, did you know that?”

Brad shook his head mutely. He and Alex enjoyed a cordial if distant relationship as was normal among families such as theirs

“You do,” Lambert nodded.  “He has concerns that the Navy will learn of your true desires, deviancies to their eyes, and wishes truly that you would let your mother arrange a marriage for you.  Oh yes, he knows, has done since your dalliance with your neighbour’s lad, Sebastian.  He walked in on you but left before you noticed.  He never raised the issue with you, said he didn’t know how to address the matter.”

His jaw dropped, and Brad simply stared at Lambert in stupefied shock.  He could not think how else Lambert could have learnt of Brad’s brief affair with Sebastian save through someone who had seen them together.  Could Alex have walked in?  Would he have simply walked out again?  Brad tried to think back.  Alex had not dropped any hints.  Had he?  They’d met only a handful of times since then.  There’d been no time to discuss...  Although, there was one conversation that had struck a chord, now that Brad thought back, one about discipline and sanctions not given.  Indecency aboard ship as Brad recalled.  Alex had not punished the individuals but he hadn’t glorified what they’d done either.  A non-important breach of the articles, Alex had said, and something that should not be addressed when there were other issues of more importance.  Brad frowned.  Could that have been Alex’s attempt to raise the issue?  His elder brother certainly had been more vocal about Brad’s possible marriage prospects in recent years. 

“Your father is aware also, according to Alexander, though he neglected to say how he knew.  He’s similarly reluctant when it comes to the matter of raising your preferences with you.  He’d not raise it with you under pain of death, those were Alexander’s words.”

The phrase was Alex’s but a thousand other men said those words on a daily basis, and Brad simply could not even contemplate his father knowing about his preference in partners. 

“Alexander is concerned,” Lambert continued, “For all that Charles takes after Alexander, you are the one that he feels closest to, although your love of fine fashion leaves him baffled.”

Brad smiled at that.  That was true.  Alexander owned several uniforms, identical in all details, one formal uniform and very few other clothes.  He always managed to find something more important to do whenever Brad suggested a fitting to get some non-Naval clothing.  It was a point of amusement. 

As for the rest of Lambert’s comment, it was true; Charles was a brat, brash and bold and living on guts, sure that glory was bound to follow, but he was their brother and unconditional love was a terrible thing at times.  Brad was closer to Alexander; there was a kinship there that he couldn’t share with anyone else. 

Lambert looked up at Brad and sighed, “You seem blessed in your family.  Not all are so accepting.”  There was sadness to his voice, deep and despairing, “I regret that all I could share with him were lies and half-truths given my own allegiances.  He deserved more than that.”

Lambert said nothing for the longest time, staring off into middle distance. 

"While I was in the stockade, the Spanish were demanding proof of our merchant papers; bills of lading, receipts of purchase and the like.  We had some forged but our forger at the time was a three-fingered man who enjoyed the bottle more than his work and we were on the verge of having our true colours revealed," shaking his head, Lambert continued, "It was a dark time for us.  If we were discovered, then we would be put to death.  Escape was our only option.  We found out later that day that it was your brother's only option also, as the Spanish had received a letter from the Admiralty in Charles Towne saying that no ransoms were to be paid."

That was outrageous!  Standard instructions said that all ransoms were to be paid irrespective of the ship or the crew.  On balance, it cost the Admiralty nothing owing to the fact that the money was simply recouped from the Spanish once a Spanish ship was captured.  To refuse the ransom was to sentence the officers and crew to an immediate death.  When Brad next wrote his mother, there would be a few choice words included for her to pass on to his father when next she saw him and that was no idle threat.

"My crew was working on a strategy to free me but it was Alexander who had a plan already in place.  He offered to include me in the escape and who was I to say no?" Lambert shrugged, "If the plan failed, then my crew could try theirs and I could repay the debt by freeing the English at the same time.  If his plan succeeded, then I was free and bound for the nearest pirate port to lick my wounds.  His plan was not flawless but it worked well enough that he was free and so was the rest of the crew.  I tucked in behind him and stayed there until we were free and clear of the stockade.  It was a quick run down to the docks from there.  We didn't have much time to talk, your brother and I, but long enough for him to refuse even the choicest gems from our haul.  Simply put, he'd take nothing as payment for my freedom."  Lambert let his cocked leg fall to the ground and leaned forward, "I'm not a man who likes being beholden to any other man.  A debt weighs heavily on me, Mister Bell, and I don't like it hanging over my head.  For that reason, I and my men kept our ears open when we made port, hoping to catch wind of anything that may help with the repayment, whether that be information or help in a situation."

While Brad could understand what Lambert meant, he was surprised to hear such words from a pirate.  Here was a man who made his living by attacking unsuspecting vessels, harvesting whatever wealth they had and sending them to the bottom of the ocean.  No sooner had such thoughts formed than Brad shook his head.  It was untrue or maybe not untrue but exaggerated, extrapolations based on rumours and false stories.  By Tommy's words, Lambert hadn't sunk the _Revenge_ but rather left her to limp to port, no doubt stripped of most things of value.  Was this story a fabrication designed to cover some truth that Lambert would rather not share, or was it actually true?  The parts concerning his brother were true enough to Brad’s ears that Brad had little doubt that Lambert had met and conversed with Alex, but the rest could still be a wild story made up to get Brad on his side. 

He watched Lambert's face for a moment, trying to detect some hint of a lie but the man met his eyes with no reservations or duplicity and Brad was tempted to call the whole thing true.

"And the information that you heard?"  Brad asked.  "Something drew you to the _Revenge_.  This wasn't just a fortuitous meeting, was it?"

"No," Lambert admitted, "It wasn't.  When I was last in Whitehall, I happened into a small coffee shop and inn favoured by the upper echelons of the English Admiralty.  I don't know if you know it.  It's called the Hook and Sail."

Brad's eyes widened at Lambert's off-handed pronouncement.  This man, the pirate whose bounty could easily be said to be the highest in the western world, had just strolled into a coffee shop _right beside_ the Admiralty building.  The man was either stupid or had balls made of pure brass, Brad wasn't sure which. 

"Thankfully it was early in the morning and most of the peers hadn't managed to get their arses out of their mistress' beds yet, but there were two men there whose conversation interested me a great deal," Lambert smiled a smile that wouldn't have looked out of place on a shark, "I believe you're acquainted with the men, Captain Archibald Chester and Major Frederick Devere?"

Brad nodded, dumbfounded.

"Yes, well, they were indiscreetly discussing a new addition to their crew, one Lieutenant Bradley Alan Bell, and precisely what their plans for the Lieutenant were," Lambert paused to let the words sink in, "Needless to say, after some checking, I realised that you were related to Alexander and also that here was presented a way for me to discharge my debt to your brother.  We obtained word on where they were headed, but unfortunately not until after the _Revenge_ had already left port and _The Madness_ set sail on the following tide.  If Chester had not taken a diversion to Eleuthera, we would have caught up with your ship sooner and you would have been spared your ordeal."

Brad brushed aside the pseudo-apology, "If you had done that, then there would have been no proof of any of this and it would indeed have been a kidnapping and one I would have fought every step of the way."

"Given your spirit, of that I have no doubt," Lambert laughed, "You're a stubborn soul."

Brad smiled, "You have no concept of exactly how stubborn I can be, Captain Lambert."

"I'm starting to get an inkling," he smiled, "but that is the tale.  You're here because of a debt that I owed your brother."

Brad nodded, replaying the Captain's words in his mind, "I cannot believe they were so foolish as to discuss it in a coffee-house."

"Neither could I," Lambert admitted, "But thankfully they did, otherwise I hesitate to think what further torture they would have laid on you."

"Yes, indeed," Brad agreed.

Brad said nothing more to the Captain, rather thinking over the situation.  It was unbelievable.  Either Fate had been smiling on him and taking a hand in his rescue or this was the largest load of manure that had ever been shoveled.  Brad didn't know yet which was more likely.

"I'll take my leave now," Lambert said, "Tommy will be stationed outside your door should you need anything and I'll check in on you later, if that's agreeable?"

"Yes, yes," Brad murmured, not really paying attention to the man's words.

He didn't even hear the door as it clicked closed.


	6. A New Life

**27 th May 1705**   
**On the Main Deck of _The Madness_ , **   
**16 Leagues Nor-East of Pirates Wall, Mayaguana**

 

Four days.  Four long, boring days before Maya deemed him healthy enough to wear a shirt and breeches again.  Brad had taken to wearing his sheet toga-style during his medical exile and he'd become increasingly snappish.  Sarcasm had turned into his primary language and even the Captain beat a hasty retreat when the edge of Brad's tongue turned sharp.  Though he tried to rein in his barbs, Brad knew precisely why his temper was getting out of hand.  He also knew what was necessary to rectify it but Maya, damn her, had imprisoned him in his tiny bunk until he could move and stretch without breaking the scabs on his back. 

Now, though, now, there was freedom.  He was dressed, albeit in clothing that was at least two inches bigger around the chest and waist than he, and on deck for the first time in two weeks.  The air was _gloriously_ fresh and clear with just the barest hint of rain on the breeze.  As he walked the railings, the crew saluted him even as they drew back a fraction.  Brad paid it little mind, focusing instead on the open sea.  Calm as a spring morning, there was not even a wave on her.  Silver fish chased the ship just under the water, turning, twisting, rising and sinking to the depths. 

Footsteps drawing close pulled his attention from the waters and he turned to see Adam walking towards him.  Brad wasn't sure when exactly he'd begun thinking of the man by his given name but the change was irreversible now.  Although he hadn't yet called him 'Adam' to his face, Brad knew that it wouldn't be long before he did.  He was charming and witty and Brad might go so far as to consider the man a friend.  The Captain had been an almost constant companion over the past few days, sharing meals and stories in equal measure.  There was an unexpected honesty in their friendship that took Brad by surprise.  Adam didn’t watch his words as even the greenest lieutenant learnt to do but instead spoke from the heart, and Brad appreciated that more than Adam would ever know.

Brad gave the man his most winning smile and turned back to look at the ocean.

"You seem to be in better spirits today," Adam’s voice was warm as he came to stand beside Brad at the railing.

"Yes, indeed," Brad nodded, "Not being confined is quite the tonic."  He looked up at Adam, "I must apologise for my behaviour.  I'm not usually so... vicious."  Adam's eyebrow rose at that but Brad pushed on, ignoring the doubt in the man's eye, "I don't do well with idleness and I do less well with confinement.  If Maya had allowed me breeches, I would have been on deck days ago and never a harsh word would have been uttered."

Adam laughed at that, his eyes twinkling, "If I'd known that I would have brought you up here days ago myself and risked Maya's wrath.  I'm glad to see you recovered though.  I'm not sure my ego could have withstood another conversation."

"I wasn't that bad," Brad huffed.  Adam's eyebrows rose and Brad was forced to concede, "Alright, maybe I was a _little_ sharp with my words, but that's behind us now and we have brand new horizons ahead.  To what duty am I to be assigned for my tenure onboard, Captain?"

Adam's hands found the railing and his fingers tapped out a staccato beat.  Brad watched, studying the man's face and the way he held himself.  It was obvious that he was trying very carefully to choose his words and that whatever he was going to say was not going to sit well with Brad.  Brad had found Adam an excellent judge of character and if he was hesitant to speak, Brad probably would not be happy, but Brad was an impatient soul and brutally direct in his demands.

"You may as well just say what you need to.  I'm no delicate flower in need of cosseting and protection."

"I've spoken with my officers and there's dissention on what duties can be assigned to you," Adam admitted.

"Oh," Brad looked out to the sea again, his shoulders stiffening.  "What, if I may ask, is the root of this dissention?"

Adam took a breath, "Your loyalty, your length of stay aboard, and the fact that you wear Naval blue to name the three main heads of the matter."

"Ah," Brad kept his gaze on the waves, "That makes an element of sense.  I cannot blame them for their doubts.  It's been two weeks and I haven't stepped foot outside that cabin until today.  They've not met me, nor have I had a conversation with them.  It's only natural for them to question my loyalty." 

He turned then so that his back was to the ocean and looked around the deck.  There were a few there, tending to their duties and not sparing either him or the Captain a second look.  He debated with himself on what to say to Adam regarding the issue.  He'd had a lot of time to think over the past few days. 

"I come from a long line of sailors, as you know, but I'm different from the great Bell Naval paragons.  I went to sea because it was expected and I've done my best to rise through the ranks, but every time I step aboard a ship I'm weighted down with my father's name and my grandfather's legacy.  Expectations are higher and rewards far less than awarded to any other officer of my rank or station.  I don't mean to spin you a sad tale but if you consider it, the only reason that I'm here now is because of a favour owed to my brother."  Brad sighed, "The _Revenge_ was the first ship that I joined of my own volition.  I approached Chester following a promotion of one of his Lieutenants and he acquiesced to my request.  My father warned me that Chester was a 'balls and braces' Captain – by the book until the book didn't suit him.  I knew that before I ever stepped foot on deck but he was exciting.  Did you know he managed to achieve more victories over the Spanish than any other Captain last year?  _That_ was the excitement that I was looking for:  a vessel where I'd be just another Lieutenant instead of Admiral Bell’s grandson.  I'd be able to take part in raiding parties, maybe lead a boarding sortie, make a name for myself quite apart from the Bell name."

Adam nodded, "An admirable goal.  It's a shame that things worked out the way they did."

"A shame yes," Brad agreed, "But hardly a surprise.  Looking back on it now, I see that.  Devere spoke to me at every chance, drawing out my insecurities and making himself a golden figure to my mind.  Chester gave me assignments, prized ones and I had started to relax my guard around him.  That's when he began to make comments - small phrases, words that I could have heard wrong.  Then it became worse, more noticeable, less subtle.  There were passing touches and eventually...  Well, you know how it turned out in the end.  At the time it could have almost been accidental and I couldn't challenge the Captain without more solid evidence.  Devere played on that and helped me to dismiss what they were doing.  The final straw you know about.  My back stands testimony to it.  I realise what a fool I was, but honestly," Brad paused and looked up at Adam, "it hasn't curbed my need for excitement, to prove myself.  I must seem a fool to you."

"You don't," Adam shook his head, "Far from it."  He smiled, "I could become a merchant.  I know all the best ports.  I have contacts from the Caribbean to the Barbary Coast to the Hebrides, but it lacks that sense of epic adventure that comes from stepping outside the law.  The beating of your heart when you see a ship and start to close in. The chase, that first attack, it’s like lightning running down your spine. The nerves that run through you as you swing aboard that other vessel and take it captive.  The glory that comes with stripping her of her spoils.  Even the smile that comes from sitting in a tavern corner and hearing old men talk of your exploits and swear blind that you're the devil himself.  I started as a pirate and I'll die a pirate, though not in the foreseeable future, I hope,” he chuckled.  “So you see, I can hardly name you a fool, for if I did, I would be calling myself one also, but that does not help persuade my officers to give you a chance."

"I think that I should meet your officers," Brad said, a plan already starting to form.

"Perhaps," Adam shrugged, "But what would you say to them?" 

"How long will it be before _The Madness_ makes a respectable port?" Brad asked.

"A respectable port?" Adam frowned, "That depends on what you call respectable, Mister Bell.  A month, maybe more.  Around the Bahamas and the Americas, we're too well known to risk seeking a berth in an English port.  We'll need fresh water in a week, maybe a little longer, rum too, but we'll be stopping in one of ports that welcome pirates.  I gather that wouldn't fit your definition of respectable."

"No, Captain.  It wouldn't be seemly for a Bell to step foot in a port such as that," Brad smirked.  "Theoretically, given that you saved my life, it would be proper for me to stay aboard until such time as we reached an agreeable port, but times are hard for _honest_ vessels such as yours and an offer to work for my keep would be acceptable.  This would mean that, if it was acceptable to your officers, I would sign onto your crew list for the period of time involved.  Obviously, I would consider myself bound not only by the articles I signed when I took my Lieutenancy but also the articles of your ship which would make me loyal to _The Madness_ until I asked to be released from her service."

Adam stared at him with his mouth practically hanging open, "Such a work of bureaucracy and convenience.  I'm not sure that I followed every word but it had me convinced, _absolutely_ , that should we be stopped by a British patrol I should simply place you in their path.  By the time you were finished with them, they'd be wrapped tightly in so much red tape that we'd need no ropes to bind them."

Brad inclined his head, "Should those be the duties to which you assign me, I would be only too happy to talk them to death with pretty words and legal phrases."

"My officers aren't going to know what to do with you," Adam shook his head, a smile still on his lips, "but it shall be fun to see that conversation."

"Lead on, Captain," Brad swept his arm out in a grandiose gesture and waited for Adam to start walking before he fell in beside him, "and perhaps I might have duties before nightfall."

Adam led Brad to the Captain's wardroom and ushered him inside.  He himself did not follow directly, ducking instead into a smaller room, a small kitchen by the looks of it.  Brad didn't hear what Adam said, but Tommy emerged seconds later and headed up onto the deck, presumably to fetch the officers.  Adam entered the wardroom and went straight to his bureau from which he withdrew a cut glass decanter and several glasses.

"Claret?" he asked and Brad nodded.

Adam poured out two glasses and handed one to Brad.

"Your health," Brad toasted Adam before he took a sip.

"And yours," came Adam's answer.

It was an elegant claret, light and with just a hint of fruit hiding behind the palate.  It had been quite a while since Brad had been given so delicate and enjoyable a wine and he took the time to savour each drop.  Taking a seat at the Captain's table, Brad waited and watched as the officers came to join them.  Distrust was evident on each officer’s expression but Brad simply smiled his most charming smile and greeted each one as he would a friend.

The first to arrive was the First Officer, a pale and drawn redhead by the name of Allison, who wore quite the utilitarian uniform of breeches, shirt and knee-high boots.  Her hair was pushed back under a kerchief but wisps and tendrils escaped to frame her face.  Brad was not yet used to Adam’s eccentricities.  He could understand how Maya had come to her position.  To be a healer, one had to be comforting and commanding. Maya was definitely that.  But to have a female sailor aboard, and as First Officer to boot?  That still puzzled Brad.  To be First Officer meant being an officer trusted to fight and shout and hold the ship together through the toughest of times.  How was a woman supposed to do that?  Brad saw a core in steel to the woman, but there was something else there as well.  Allison held a laced handkerchief in her hand, clutched tightly.  She held herself stiffly, one arm wrapped tight around her body.  Brad tried to hold back a frown but when she scowled at him, he feared that he'd fallen short.  He wondered briefly if she'd been injured during the fighting on the _Revenge_ but he wasn't so gauche as to ask outright. 

Maya arrived next with Tommy on her heels carrying a tea infusion that he put down in front of Allison before closing the door behind him.  Brad expected him to stand by the door but he took a seat at the table with the officers.  A surprise, not that Tommy had ever spoken to Brad of his place or rank. Despite the time they'd spent together, Tommy had never warmed to him.

"As you know," Adam began, "over the past few days we've been debating the case of Mister Bell and how best to fill his time once Maya released him from her tender care."

"You've raised a lot of concerns in the discussions we've been having and today, I brought them to Mister Bell.  He's thought about them and agreed that the concerns are valid and need to be addressed before we can start assigning him any duties aboard," Adam sat back in his seat and gestured for Brad to continue.

"As I understand it, the main issues revolve around my Naval background and the question of my loyalty in the face of being part of a pirate crew," Brad summed up.  "I have no doubts that I owe you and your crew many things; my eternal gratitude for your timely intervention, my favour for helping me escape a rather gruesome fate and most of all, my life.  Had it not been for the tender care shown to me by Maya, I doubt that I would have lived to see another shore.  With that in mind, I've considered my options aboard this vessel and have come to a conclusion that I hope you'll accept."  He paused and sat forward in his seat, steepling his fingers on the tabletop, "I consider myself indebted to you and as such, you have my loyalty.  I still hold a commission and have sworn my allegiances to the Navy.  However, what I propose is this:  that for the period of time that I am aboard your vessel, I will sign onto your articles like any other man would have to do.  This would be no different than what I would do when joining another Naval ship of the fleet.  I will swear my allegiance to _The Madness_ and her master for such period of time as I am onboard and take my place amongst the crew.  I will swear to follow the orders of any man, or woman," Brad tipped his head to Allison and Maya, "above me on the chain of command and carry out their orders to the best of my ability."

Maya inclined her head in kind and smiled encouragingly at Brad.  Allison was different.  There was no hint of warmth to her features.  Instead she seemed to be taking Brad’s measure and considering her next words.

"And just how long you are you planning on staying with us?" Allison asked, her voice rough and hoarse.

"I was speaking to the Captain about that," Brad nodded towards Adam, "and I feel that stepping off the ship at the first port would be extremely premature given that it's going to be a port filled to the rafters with cutthroat pirates and other such individuals with whom my safety cannot be assured.  I've learned that you make it a practice to put to shore every month or so in a British controlled port.  I'll stay with you until we make the next British port."

"What guarantee do we have that you won't make for shore the first time we dock and sell our location out to the British?" it was Tommy this time and that was easily the longest string of words that Brad had heard from the blond.

"My word," Brad fixed Tommy with a firm look.

Tommy grunted at that, echoed by Monte.

Brad raised an eyebrow, "Contrary to rumour, _some_ members of the Naval forces were indeed conceived in wedlock and are capable of keeping their oaths."

There were shared looks at that, looks of distrust and doubt, and Brad took one more sip of his claret and made to stand, "I'll step outside and leave you to discuss my situation."

"No, Brad," Adam put out a hand to stop him, "Stay.  It's your future being discussed, you should hear what's to be said."

"So what think you?" Adam asked his officers, "Has what Mister Bell said here convinced you or are you still mistrustful of him?"

"I've made my position clear enough, Captain," Maya was the first to speak, "I've had many hours with the boy and he has a good and honest heart, even if his tongue takes a wicked turn from time to time.  If he says that he'll be bound by our oaths, then I say he speaks true."

Adam nodded and smiled at the older woman.  Brad inclined his head in her direction and then turned his eyes to the three undecideds.  Tommy had a scowl on his face dark as thunder and Monte wasn't much different. 

"I say no," Tommy shook his head, "He's Navy and intends to stay that way.  We have nothing but his word that he'll keep our secrets and you know what the word of a Navyman is worth!"  He spat on the floor and Brad wondered what had happened to turn Tommy so against any man wearing a uniform.

"I agree," Monte spoke for the first time, his voice deep and booming.  "No to the Navy brat."

Brad looked to Allison who was still watching him.  She opened her mouth to speak but she'd no sooner done that than a wracking cough caught her and she struggled to even draw breath.  Maya was on her feet in a second and beside the First Officer, holding her firm and rubbing her back.  Maya looked worried and that worried Brad in turn.  Barring her single emotional outburst on the deck of the _Revenge_ , Brad had never seen her worry so obviously over anything or anyone.  Even when she'd had to peel him from the sheets, she'd never once hesitated as she did now.  Adam moved around to Allison and with a gesture to Tommy, the blond was running from the room.  Not even a minute had passed before he was back with a jar of something that looked like watered down honey and a decent sized spoon.  Even the dour-looking Monte was on his feet, fretting as Allison coughed. 

When she could again draw her breath, she pushed them all away and took a sip of her tea, grimacing at either the taste or the fact that it must now be cold.  Only Maya stayed near her, hunting Monte from his chair so she could sit beside Allison and tend her.  Allison wiped at her mouth with the handkerchief and Brad fancied that he now saw tiny red spots on the white cotton, but she tucked the square of fabric into her sleeve before he could be sure.  Brad’s hand rose a fraction but he caught himself before he could be so obvious as to cover his mouth.  There were a multitude of diseases of the lungs and chest, each worse than the previous but she had too much vigour to be consumptive.  By the closeness of the other officers to Allison, Brad had to assume that whatever plagued her, it couldn’t be contagious.

"We app... appear to be at a... a stalemate," her voice was raw but when Adam made to interrupt her she turned that cold glare at him and he held up his hand in apology.  She took another sip before continuing, "There is a matter of trust here and that seems to be the sticking point.  I propose a compromise.  We've got eight days before we make land next and we're berthing in New Providence.  I propose that we give the Lieutenant a trial.  If he reneges on his obligations, then we put him ashore.  If he works hard and carries out whatever duties we assign him, then we take this vote again in New Providence and the Lieutenant stands us a round at the Devil Dog."

Brad was willing to accept the terms of her agreement, although as far as he knew he didn't have a farthing to his name.  Even these breeches weren't his own, but even with that, it was a damned good idea.

"If it's agreeable to the Captain then the terms are acceptable to me," Brad sat back in his chair and turned his attention to Adam.

Adam sipped at his claret, "Another wonderfully sensible suggestion from my wondrous First Officer.  Honestly, my friend, without your clear head and sound ideas, we'd be at the bottom of the sea."

Allison rolled her eyes, "False flattery will get you nowhere."

Adam smiled, "Who said it was false?"  Raising his glass to Brad, he toasted his newest addition to the crew, "Welcome to _The Madness_ , Lieutenant Bell." 

Brad raised his glass and answered the toast.  He had a feeling that he was going to enjoy his time aboard _The Madness_.  It would be a nice diversion to take the starch from his shirts and be one of the men for a time, and Brad was looking forward to the opportunity to do some actual sailing rather than spend another day counting ropes and doing the hundred thousand checks that were needed merely to satisfy beaucracy.  That was, after all, exactly what he'd hoped for when he'd signed on to the _Revenge_. 


	7. Shattered Expectations and Glorious Fortune

**4 th June 1705**  
 **On the Main Deck of _The Madness_ , **  
**10 Leagues East of New Providence, and Riding Fast**

 

This was most definitely not what Brad had hoped for when he'd signed on to _The Madness_.  Strapped to the wheel and fighting the tide with Allison on one side and Monte on the other, Brad had his hands full.  The storm was in full gale and the ship was bucking every attempt to tame her.  This was the perfect end to a week of petty orders and manual labour and it seemed as if the worst was still to come.  On their flank and weathering the storm more easily than _The Madness_ was a British first rate with more guns on her than men.  Needless to say, Adam wasn't fool enough to try to take her in this weather, although Brad suspected that the thought had crossed the Captain's mind.  Brad's face stung as the rain drove at him, dagger sharp.  He'd lost feeling in his fingers but he clung to the wheel and rode the waves as best he could. 

They were running with bare poles, the sails rolled up tightly and bound securely so as not to catch even a hint of the gale.  Men stood ready with heavy weather trysails, tied on to the masts and the railings as they waited for orders.  Adam himself stood on the bow and Brad looked to him for direction, as did Allison and Monte.  Adam watched the sea and his right hand rose.  Instantly, Brad swung the wheel to starboard and stopped only when Adam's hand dropped.  The ship lurched and then crashed as it broached the wave.

"We're going to capsize," Brad warned, shouting his words into Allison's ear.

She shook her head, her eyes still on Adam. 

"The water's moving too fast.  Any more like that last wave and we'll be on the bottom of the sea," Brad warned.  "And the ship on our flank, she keeps moving like that and she's going to crash our hull."

Allison said nothing, still looking to Adam.  Adam's left hand rose this time and Brad spun the wheel to port, feeling the weight of the ship under him.  She was suffering under the choppy water, straining as each slap of the waves pushed her faster.  Waves crashed into the stern, soaking Brad through and making the deck slippery under his feet.  _The Madness_ rocked hard to starboard and it was everything Brad could do to keep her under his control.  Even with Allison and Monte there and helping, it was only Brad's stubborn streak, his firm grip and Adam's flawless directions that kept them from tearing apart.  They couldn't take much more of this.  Brad eyed the men holding tight to the storm anchor.  So far no word had come from Adam to drop it and that had Brad worried.  With the water running faster and pushing them along, the ship would be torn apart by the storm if something was not done but Adam seemed content to simply let Fate guide them.

A flash from starboard caught Brad's attention and he glanced at the Navy ship.  The gale had stolen the sound of the cannons and the wind whipped the shot from their course to crash harmlessly into the sea.  Even so, they landed close, dangerously close.  The ship rocked harder as the heavy shots hit the water but was otherwise undamaged.

"Jesus, Lord, they're firing on us.  What sort of dog-faced idiot unbalances their ship in the middle of a damned hurricane," Brad shouted to be heard.

"Navy," Monte replied and Brad shook his head.

This wasn't a standard naval tactic.  This was some fool of a Captain who couldn't decide between the welfare of his ship, his crew and the chance at the glory that came from capturing _The Madness_.  Not that a sane man could hope to capture aught but a cold in this weather.  He'd never be able to get men across to engage them and even if their gunners aimed to compensate for the wind, _The Madness_ would be below the waves before they could capture her.

"We can't fight both the sea and the Navy," Brad cursed and looked over his shoulder to the men holding fast to the storm anchor, "Drop the anchor.  Drop it now!"

The men hesitated, looking to Allison and past her to the Captain.  Allison shook her head and Brad's order was ignored.  He looked back at the Captain who seemed to be paying no attention to anything but the sea before them, directing them how to move the ship to keep her together.  Brad could feel _The Madness_ starting to strain at the seams, buffeted as she was from all sides.  The addition of the British taking shots at them meant, to Brad's mind, that they were in need of more immediate solutions.  Taking the facts as they were: the first rate was heavier, more solid and could afford the roll of the deck under the cannon: _The Madness_ wasn't in a position to fire back even if they wanted to, not with the sea tossing them around like a child’s rag doll.  Brad worked through the odds in his head.  There were only two strategies that could work here and each carried risks of their own but Brad would be damned before he let someone else control his fate, not when he could do something about the situation. 

Beckoning one of the men over, he handed the wheel to Monte and let the anchorman replace Monte, supporting the wheel and catching it when they made to turn.  Brad was going to speak with the Captain and, if necessary, beat some sense into the man.  Brad struggled to make his way across the slick planks of the decks, fouled as they were with ropes, debris and the residue of the waves and the rain until he finally fetched up beside the Captain, holding fast to the railing.

"Captain," Brad shouted over the wind’s roar, "We can't keep doing this.  She's going to rip apart."

"No storm will sink _The Madness_ ," came Adam's cocky answer and Brad fought the urge to strike the man.

"Then how about the British?" Brad demanded, "Or hadn't you noticed them?"

"They'll not sink us either."

Adam's confidence smacked of madness to Brad.  Brad had been onboard boats and ships since before he'd been born and he knew well as any man and better than most the feel of a ship in distress.  Damn the man if he didn't listen.  Damn him and damn every other thrice-cursed pirate onboard.  Devil damn them all but Brad would make the man agree to a course of action that wasn't based on false confidence.

"Captain, we need to do something," Brad persisted, "With the British at our flank and the storm at our back we're caught fast between a shoal and a reef.  Drop the storm anchor, claw back some of the speed the storm forces on us and then spin away from the British.  With any luck, they'll push straight past us and we'll lose them in the storm."

Adam shook his head, "She'll just drop anchor as we do.  We're not losing her without help from the Divine."

Brad wiped a hand over his face.  It was dripping wet again soon as he dropped his hand and he prayed the storm wasn’t worsening.  Adam was right but Brad was not yet defeated. 

"Very well, if we can't lose them by slowing..." Brad's lip quirked up, "Then let us outrun them!"

Adam turned a fraction towards Brad though his eyes never left the sea, "What are you thinking?"

"Mainsails to half, run up the trysails and let's show the bastards our stern.  We'll run fast as the waves do and if God is with us, we'll outrun the Navy and the storm before the masts break."

Brad held his breath. If Adam was still determined to play the fool then the ship and every soul aboard were damned to Davy Jones. After a second, Adam nodded, "Give the orders and then take the helm back from Monte.  I need a firm pair of hands there if we're going to make this work and you've just volunteered for the task."

"Aye, sir," Brad grinned wide and turned back to relay the orders.  Brad skidded on the deck and was caught by one of the men.  Brad caught the man's arm and steadied himself, shouting to the men nearby, "Mainsails to half.  Run up the trysails.  We're going to outrun those British bastards."

The men looked dubious but Brad pushed them towards the rigging.  They hesitated for another second before the British sent a second shot across their bow.  The men hopped to and started the perilous climb.  Brad sent every spare man to help and then retreated to the mizzen deck, to the helm.

"We're putting on all speed," Brad explained as he took the wheel back from Monte.  "It's going to be dangerous and we're going to have to keep an eye on the masts, but with the Good Lord's help, we'll do it."

It was a close run thing and Brad could swear that he heard the mast crack half a dozen times but they sped ahead of the first rate and left them to ride _The Madness_ 's wake-water. 

Once the other ship was lost in the storm, Brad ordered the men to take down the sails.  On Adam's orders, they changed their course and Brad kicked out the storm anchor and _The Madness_ slowed by degrees.  Finally, they could breathe.  The men climbed down from the rigging and collapsed to the deck, cheering their success and their victory over the British.  Brad smiled and relaxed a fraction.  They were safe now and could focus now on keeping _The Madness_ between the waves.

The storm was just starting to fade, the winds dropping from full tempest to a mere fret, when another crisis struck.  The wheel slipped as they turned to the wind.  Brad tightened his grip as _The Madness_ heaved violently under him and looked around for the problem.  Had the rudder finally snapped? His heart skipped a beat but the problem proved to be a lot closer.  Allison's grip was weak as a newborn’s and she swayed, dangerously unsteady on her feet.  Brad would have reached out to her but with her strength gone, he couldn't afford to take even a hand from the wheel.

"Allison," Brad shouted, "Allison, are you with us?"

She shook her head.  Brad looked to Monte and saw his attention squarely on Allison, worry creasing his brow.  He looked barely a step from rushing to her side and Brad needed Monte's focus here.  The waves were still running hard enough that he needed the help at the helm and he needed an officer beside him to confirm his orders.  The storm was calming but _The Madness_ was not yet safe.

Brad looked over his shoulder to one of the men standing watching the anchor, "You man there, take the First Officer below.  Have someone run to fetch Maya and stay with her until Maya arrives, then get your arse back up here."

"I'm fine," Allison tried to shake off his concern.

"Aye and I'm the King of Spain.  You do us no damned good up here like this.  Everyone is looking to you and I don't care what your illness is, but right now, my concern is for the ship," Brad told her, not pulling any punches.  He looked to the man, not brokering any dispute, "Take her below!"

The man took Allison's arm and led her down the stairs and below decks.  Brad set his feet firmly and took up the slack, putting his shoulders into the task of keeping _The Madness_ from crashing headlong into the sea.  With only two of them, the strain was telling.  Brad could feel every muscle on his back pull taut and the scabs start to split.  His shoulders screamed but Brad would not falter, not until the ship was safe and his duty was done.  Brad bit his lip against the feeling and the sting of salt water against the open wound.  He looked to the sky and was thankful to see the black give way to grey.  There was hope on the horizon and right now, that was all he could ask. 

It was another hour, perhaps, before the winds started to die down to a fresh top-sail gale and Brad could take the wheel on his own and let Monte disappear below decks.  Adam was still on deck, though Brad could tell that his attention was split.  He had finally left the bow and was at that very moment walking back to where Brad held fast to the wheel.

Adam was quiet as he came to stand beside Brad, "We'll make for shore soon as we fix our position.  We'll want to make sure that everything's seaworthy and that the mast is steady after our little adventure.  We took quite the beating in that storm, but I fear we would have taken a worse one if the British had connected with their cannon."

Brad nodded.  Adam seemed to have something on his mind so Brad refrained from adding any comments.

"I don't stand for anyone challenging me.  My ship may run differently than a ship of the line, but I keep a disciplined ship.  I give the orders and they are followed," Adam paused and fixed him with an inscrutable look, "Your distraction could have sunk us."

Brad could not dispute it but it had been a measured risk and one that he would repeat in a heartbeat, "Continuing on our course could have sunk us just as well."  Adam looked at him for a moment, blue eyes calculating.  Brad squared his shoulders and looked Adam in the eye, not backing down for a single moment, "I won't apologise for speaking my mind if I think it's something that needs to be said.  If something needs to be done, then I'll do it, and if I think you're endangering this ship’s survival, I will say so.  I don't speak just to hear the sound of my voice or to impress you with my wit, Captain.  I wager that I've been at sea longer than you, and while this _is_ your vessel, for the period of time that I'm aboard it, my life depends on the skill of you and your men, and by the oaths that bind me, I'll follow your orders.  But nothing that I signed said that I have to keep silent in the face of stupid orders or fool mistakes," Brad reined in his rising anger, and took a breath, "You're wild, you're reckless and you played dice with the lives of every man onboard ship.  I just evened the odds.  One thing that you should realise by now about me, Captain," Brad's lip pulled up into a half-smirk, "I don't back down for any man."

That seemed to catch the Captain’s humour and Adam laughed, "No, you don't.  I must admit that I knew that from the first moment I saw you.  It'll be interesting having you aboard, Mister Bell, however long you choose to stay."  His tone turned serious, "It was the right decision.  Good job and well done for holding her firm."

Pride and an inexplicable warmth filled Brad at the praise.  They fell into a comfortable silence, Brad coaxing the ship to a straight course, Adam still at his side, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.  Brad tried to hold down that feeling but his head was swimming with Adam's praise.  He barely knew the man but his words, his positive opinion meant more to Brad than that of any other captain Brad had served under.  Illogical really, but there it was. 

After the sixth time, Brad had to speak, "I can hold the watch while you go to check on her."

"I..." Adam paused, "Thank you."  He started towards the steps and stopped, turning back to look at Brad, a small smile on his lips, "Try not to loot too many unsuspecting ships while I'm gone."

"I make no promises," Brad smiled back.

The skies continued to lighten and the seas calmed over the next couple of hours and Brad could feel the tiredness sinking into his bones.  Fresh coffee was brought and two crewmen held the helm while he drank it. Brad took the opportunity to shake out his arms, working out the tingles that ran from his shoulder to fingertips.  Before the storm, the men had been distant, cold almost, echoing the manner in which the officers had treated him.  It hadn't been bad per se, but he'd felt like an unwanted visitor being tolerated.  Men watched him work, openly checking on his progress, taking the task from him if they thought that he wasn't up to scratch, but now, _now_ they were eager to help him.  Maybe he'd speak to Adam about it later, or maybe he'd just count his blessings and simply accept it.

The waves were scarce more than a foot when the watch changed and Brad happily handed over both the watch and the wheel to a rested looking Monte. 

"Captain wants you below," Monte told him.

Brad nodded and hurried down to the wardroom.  Honestly, he was looking forward to simply climbing into his bunk and sleeping the sleep of the just, letting the rest ease his newly awoken pains.  Still, after his speech on knowing his duty, he would have to present himself before the captain before he did.  He had hoped that Adam would make his way back up onto the deck before the end of his watch but there'd been no sign of the Captain.

Knocking on the wardroom door, Adam's voice bid him enter.  Allison sat in one of the chairs, a heavy sheet wrapped around her and a handkerchief clutched in her hand.  It was clean, with no spots of red but she looked almost frail under the blanket.  Adam stood with his back to the room, staring out the clear glass window to stern.  Maya was also in the room, wearing dark colours and looking almost subdued as she fussed with bottles and tinctures. 

"Monte said you wanted to see me?" Brad said, directing his question to Adam.

Surprisingly, it was Allison who answered, directing him to a seat in front of her with a wave of her hand, "A pretty lie.  I asked Monte to send you down.  There're some things I want to discuss with you."

Brad took the seat cautiously, careful to keep his aching back from touching the chair back, wondering what this was about.

"You ordered me from the deck," she stated. 

There was a hint of accusation in her voice and that made Brad's hackles rise, "Yes I did.  At the time, we could afford neither the time nor the attention that were needed to tend to you and ensure that you were well.  We were struggling to hold her steady as it was.  You were a distraction and better off below where Maya could care for you."

Allison watched him, saying nothing and Brad looked to Adam.  His back was still to the room and he hadn't moved so much as an inch.  Maya was doing her best to lose herself in her work.

"During our last meeting in this room, I noted that you are ill.  Not being a medical man, I can’t guess to the cause but I have eyes enough to see that you have attacks of it.  You are the only officer not assigned to the watch rotation and only rarely venture on deck.  Anyone with brains can see that your illness is stealing your strength and your health.  However, you have the affection of every man aboard the ship and when you faltered, every man on deck was poised to desert his station and go to your aid.  We could not afford such a distraction, so I ordered one of the men to take you below so that you could recover as best you could," Brad paused, considering the woman, "Your help was invaluable during the storm: I'd go so far as to say that we would not have weathered it if you hadn't been helping to steady the ship.  You've got good reflexes and better instincts, but despite that, sending you below was the right decision."

Still, she watched him and still Adam didn't say a word.  Brad sat back in his chair and waited for someone to say something but no one did.

"What is this about?" Brad asked as the silence itched at him.

"It's about your place on the ship," Allison answered after a moment, her voice giving nothing away. 

"You're considering putting me from the ship because I dared to take the necessary action?" Brad's mind boggled and deep down, something broke.  "That is absurd.  I acted in the best interest of the ship and in accordance to the articles that I signed.”  Brad turned to Adam, desperation his driving force, “Captain, you must realise that!"

"You left your station during a crisis to tell the Captain what to do on his own ship," Allison listed off, "You ordered the First Officer from the deck.  You gave orders that you had no authority to give.  Do tell me if I've forgotten anything."

Brad shook his head, his voice failing him.

"Tell me, Lieutenant Bell, what would happen if a crewman aboard one of your pretty naval vessels acted such as you had?" she asked.

"He'd most likely face the lash," Brad's voice was low but he managed to keep the quaver of dread from it, "or the Captain could hang him from the yardarm for mutiny."

Brad thought that he was away from such draconian measures.  He had thought that Adam was a better man than this, and in that instant he found himself hating Adam.  Panic was making his heart race. Surely they were not going to hang him for his actions?  Surely they would not whip him for doing what was best for the ship?  Brad’s eyes found Adam again and he had to blink to hold back the sudden tears that he felt prickling at his eyes. 

Allison coughed lightly into her handkerchief but it wasn't the full blown attack of before.  Once she could speak again, she looked to Adam, "As much as it pains me, Captain, we have no choice."

Brad shook his head, hoping against hope that the Captain would relent.  What of their friendship?  Or was it merely in Brad’s mind?

Adam turned finally, his face grim, "You're right, of course.  I'll make the announcement to the crew.  Prepare him.  Maya, you may need to stand ready."

Adam left the room, closing the door behind him, before Brad could say anything in his defence.  Brad’s hope died with the click of the door and all life, all light left him.  Everything faded to darkness around him.

Overhead, Brad heard the bell sound to call the men to the deck.  Brad’s breath caught, faltering.  He'd done his best for the ship, for the crew, for everyone and still he was being punished.  Brad hoped that Adam would let him walk up under his own power.  No, damnit.  He _would_ walk, whether Adam permitted it or not.  He wouldn't stand to be dragged.  He doubted that his flogging would be the spectacle that it was aboard the _Revenge_ but his back was still healing and after last night, he was most likely going to bleed after the first stroke.  Hell and damnation, he was probably bleeding even now.  Damn them all.

"I'm leaving the ship when we dock at New Providence," Allison said calmly.  "My condition isn't getting any better.  Pleurisy, Maya says, and I'm not inclined to disbelieve her.  The damp and the wet aboard ship aren't doing me any help."

Brad nodded, suddenly understanding, "So this is your final revenge before you leave?"

"You could say that," Allison shrugged a shoulder.  "It'll be difficult for you, but you'll weather it well I think.  The Captain will be hardest to deal with."

 _The Captain will be hardest to deal with_?  Brad's eyes widened at that.  Just how many hands was the cat going to pass through?  Was every man aboard going to take a turn?  He’d heard of such barbaric practices in the Navy, but surely here...  Brad bit back a cry for mercy he knew would be in vain.  He had no favours to call with these pirates, nothing to offer that might save his hide.  Brad wondered if he should just make a run for the side and let the sharks take him.  It'd be a damned sight easier than letting them open his back again.  That was the coward’s way though, and Brad would not give in.  He’d weathered Chester’s mock justice and Devere’s evil hand, he would not disgrace his father’s name, his grandfather’s name at the hands of mere pirates.

Brad steeled himself and stood, "Very well.  I'll just get ready then."

He slipped off his heavy jacket, his shoulder protesting every movement, and his hands reached for the bottom of his shirt.  Allison's eyes followed his hands and Brad didn't miss her look to Maya or the frown on her face.

"What in the name of everything holy are you doing?" Allison asked incredulously, "I've no wish to see you bared.  Mercy man, I'm a sick woman."

Brad stopped, confused by her words, "Then how do you propose that I prepare?  I'm not going to lose another shirt to a whipping!"

"A whipping for saving the ship?"  Allison frowned and looked again to Maya.  "Damn boy, but I thought you knew us better than that!  We're not going to whip you.  Good Lord, no!  We don’t hold with that kind of justice.  We may be pirates, but we're not barbarians.  Shoot you where you stand, maybe, but no one here will raise a cat to you for anything short of breaking the articles.  You're to be formally appointed as an officer aboard _The Madness_.  Monte will take my place and you shall take his."

Brad sat down heavily on the chair and simply blinked at the woman, "What?"

Maya was beside him in an instant, pushing something into his hand and lifting it to his lips.  Brad swallowed reflexively as she tipped the vial into his mouth and instantly he felt calmer.  There were tears in the woman’s eyes and Brad reached a hand up to wipe her cheek as a single salty drop escaped. 

“I wouldn’t stand for it, Brad-lad,” Maya whispered to him, “Not on my life, child.  I should have realised that you carried more hurts than just those on your body.  From my heart, child, I should have known and told them no.  I should have...”

Brad, from his place of newfound calmness, pulled Maya to him, wincing just a little as his arms protested and whispered forgiveness in her ear.  It took a few moments to calm the woman and assure her that he bore her no grudge, though in truth, his feelings were conflicted over the entire affair and he certainly intended to find Adam later and speak his mind to the Captain.

Maya, calmed now, pulled back and settled close to him, her hand coming to rest atop his.  It was only then that Brad looked back to Allison.

“You wish me to become an officer of _The Madness_?” Brad asked, still curious about the decision.

He was still Navy through and through, pledged to them and bound by the articles he signed on getting his promotion.  Even if he’d overlooked his Naval ties, Monte and Tommy were eager to remind him of his ‘Naval rot’ at every opportunity. This very morning, Brad had been certain the greater part of the crew tolerated his presence only for the Captain’s sake. So why did they want him as an officer on a pirate ship?

Allison nodded, "You may have noticed by now that Adam is...  Well, there are no easy words for this.  He sails by his gut.  _The Madness_ 's timbers may as well be his muscle and sinew, an extension of him and he forgets that he's not invincible at times," Allison explained, "His reputation among the men is hardly less than it is among the tavern drunkards and he needs someone to keep his feet on the ground.  That job will now fall to you in my absence.  Monte is very good at keeping the men in line and working hard, but you've got the way of the sea about you.  More than that, you know when to challenge orders and have the courage to do so when the ship is in danger.  I saw that today."  She chuckled at Brad's shocked expression, "Yes, I do know everything that happens aboard this ship, as you'll need to.  I recommend you find yourself some friends amongst the crew and keep them sweet.  It'll make the job easier."

Brad still didn't know what to say.  The crash when he thought that he was to be whipped and the sudden elation from his promotion...  his head was spinning.

"Well, with all that said," Allison smiled, "Only one thing remains."

Brad looked to her, a frown on his face.  Hadn't everything been said?  What more was there?

"Welcome to _The Madness_ , Bradley Bell."


	8. Heartfelt Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Year Later

**19 th July 1706**  
**The Captain’s Cabin, aboard _The Madness_ , **  
**10 Leagues Nor’-East of New Providence**

 

Brad collapsed to the sheets beside his lover, sated.  He was spent, and as soon as dawn started to tickle the horizon he had to take the watch.  All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep now, but it wasn't just the approaching dawn watch that kept sleep from him.

"We need to talk," Adam's voice filled the spreading silence and Brad burrowed deeper into Adam's side, shaking his head.

"Can't we just..." Brad trailed off, waving a hand back and forth over their bodies. 

Adam's silence answered and Brad turned to look at his lover, sighing heavily.  He knew what Adam wanted to talk about but it was a conversation that he didn’t particularly want to have, and one that he’d been putting off for the longest time.

Eventually, Brad nodded and ducked his head, his voice almost lost in the sheet that covered them, "Yes, alright, we need to talk.  This... this relationship, it's not working for us, is it?"

With a heavy sigh, Adam shook his head, "No, and I hate to say that.  I've enjoyed the time with you and it won't change your position onboard _The Madness_ ," he was quick to reassure, "but... I don't think we can continue as we have been."

Brad looked away from Adam, biting back words.  Tears pricked his eyes.  He’d grown closer to Adam in the year he’d been aboard than he had ever been to another person, family or no.  Nightmares and memories haunted him still, and Adam was his grounding force, keeping him sane.  The one thing that he could not lose, not for any price, was Adam’s friendship.  They had been involved romantically for a fraction over a year, scarcely friends in the truest sense for not more than a month longer and it had come to this.  Things had been strained for a while and they had simply fallen into bed together rather than discussing that strain.  Even last night, when Adam had asked him to come to the wardroom, they had barely said two words before conversation palled and they slipped into Adam's cabin.

Adam’s words played around Brad’s mind.  He’d ‘enjoyed’ his time with Brad but his words clearly indicated that such times were ended.  Brad hid his face, not wanting Adam to see him as he tried to swallow down the first wracking sob.

"Shush, Brad, shush, it's alright," Adam rubbed circles on his back, fingers ghosting over the pink and pale puckered skin, "Look at me.  Please?"

Almost against his will, his eyes rose to meet Adam's.  Adam raised a hand and cupped Brad's face, his thumb running under Brad's eye to wipe away the falling tears. 

"What are you thinking, love?" Adam asked, concern softening his voice, "Talk to me."

Brad shook his head, not willing to share his fears yet.  Adam held him close and pressed soft kisses to his crown.  There was no heat to the kisses, no passion, just unspoken comfort and Brad relaxed a fraction.  Adam wasn’t pulling away, not yet, and there was hope.  Maybe not for the physical relationship but for the friendship, which Brad already knew was worth more than gold to him. 

"I love you," Brad whispered.

He could feel Adam nod, "I know, love, and I love you too.  A dearer friend I could not hope to find.”  Adam smiled, Brad felt the upcurl of Adam’s lips against his forehead.  “I fear you know all my secrets.  If you desired to, you could devastate me, but I trust you.  However, you're not _in_ love with me and the feelings are mirrored if I look down into my soul.  Though epic, ours is not a tale of high romance, but rather one of brothers against the world and its woes."

Brad raised an eyebrow at Adam's words.  He was waxing lyrical, a sure sign of his unease.  Responding to habit by now deeply engrained, Brad elbowed him sharply in the side to snap him back to the situation at hand.

"Oof," Adam scooted as far back as the bunk allowed, "One day, Brad Bell, I'll succeed in fattening you up until there is more meat than bone to your elbow.  I swear you sharpen them every bit as often as you sharpen your blades."

"More often than that," Brad almost smiled, falling easily back into the familiar banter, "They come to be of use every time my beloved Captain forgets his wits, his manners or his station."

Adam laughed at that.  The laugh lingered in the air for a moment after Adam let it die and then the silence thickened once more.  Brad thought of the long evenings that he’d spent with Adam, playing chess, beating Adam on strategy and winning kisses from him, talking and laughing and just being together.  There was love there, that wasn’t in doubt, but in the last month something had changed and honestly, Brad couldn’t pinpoint what.  It should have been perfect.  The physical part of their relationship had started not long after Allison had left the ship, and had been a logical extension of their friendship; but somewhere along the way, everything had fallen apart.

"Why?" Brad asked, looking up at Adam.

"Why what?"

"Why doesn’t it work any longer? Where did it go wrong?  If we love each other and are each other's best friend and confidante, what more could we have done?"

Adam rolled onto his back.  Brad crowded in and pillowed his head over the comforting rhythm of Adam’s heart, relaxing as Adam's arm came to wrap around him.  There was another brief silence.

"I've given the matter some thought these last few days," Adam finally answered, "And I haven’t come up with any easy answer.  There are many answers to that question."

"Then give me just one of the many."

Adam sighed and rubbed his free hand over his face, running it back through his black hair, "For me, the main reason is balance.  You have a strength that can never be denied and a will that refused to be broken; before I say any more, let me say that I would never for all the world change that.  From the very moment I met you, I recognised that you could not be knocked down, never be truly broken.  Men may be bigger than you, stronger than you, and imagine that affords them an advantage, but they underestimate you.  You savage them either with your blades, your wits or your words, but...  You never relent.  On deck, if I give you an order, providing of course that it agrees with your sense of what should be done, you will mostly consent to obey, and you've tempered your natural impulses sufficiently that if you disagree with me, you raise it in private and allow me to consider your opinion before I make a royal arse of myself, but it's different below decks."

Wasn't that what he was meant to do?    

Adam continued, "When we step into the wardroom or the cabin or wherever we find to be alone, your voice must be the loudest.  I cannot be your Master on the deck and your lesser below it.  It's not in my nature, Brad.  I've fought it for a while and I think that's why we stopped talking.  Every conversation became a demand and every demand became a fight.  I know that I'm stubborn and at times arrogant and that I don't always listen to counsel, but that's who _I_ am and I can't deviate from my nature any more than you can from yours.  Would you honestly wish to change my very nature?"

Brad considered for a moment, "Just your love of white.  There is a whole rainbow out there to choose from, did you know?"

It was a joke and Adam took it as such, "Love, you are colourful enough for both of us."

Brad smiled, "That may be true, but in answer, truly no.  There's nothing I would change."

"I don't think that we were meant to be together.  Not as lovers.  But you are my closest friend and I won't let you leave the ship without a fight," Adam vowed.

Those words calmed Brad’s worst fears.  It seemed that Adam hadn’t lost his ability to read Brad, telling him exactly what he needed to hear.  Brad could deal with the end of their carnal relations as long as their friendship endured.

"Is that why you've not berthed in a single reputable port for over a year, Adam?"  Brad teased.  "I told you before that I was staying.  You don't have to avoid naval ports on my account.  Fourteen months and I haven't made even a sound about leaving _The Madness_.  I've found a home here and I've told you that I'll stay.  Several times in fact."

That was true.  It had taken time to secure his place amongst the crew but once he'd been accepted, he'd never looked back.  Even Tommy condescended to smile occasionally, even if he still didn't speak much more than he ever had before.  There was more excitement here on _The Madness_ than there was on any ship the Navy could put to sea and the family he'd built here was second to none.  He still saw his brothers on occasion, although only covertly and with much cloak and dagger sneaking around in ports that his brothers shouldn't even know existed.  Although they did not approve of his choices, they wished him well and broke the news to Brad's father.  By Alex’s description, it had been a rather explosive revelation; however, he’d weathered it in time and even sent a note to Brad via Alex wishing him well, a note that stated in it a hope that any crew he attached himself to understood the prize that they had in him.  Those words from his father had made Brad smile and he sometimes wondered when he would see his father again, but _The Madness_ was his home now and Brad wasn't looking back. 

Worry lingered at the back of his mind, though, and try as he might, Brad couldn’t set it aside.  Adam had said that Brad’s position was secure aboard _The Madness_ , but Brad couldn’t help but wonder about how the crew would take the news.  His relationship with the Captain had eased his way into the crew, and though Brad flattered himself thought that he was doing a good job and that they accepted him on his own merits, there was still an insecurity that he couldn’t wholly ignore.  He wondered what the dawn watch would bring, and on its heels, every other watch.  He’d need to wear a brave face once the news broke, but he had practice at that.

Adam offered no answer to Brad's question for the longest time, "I know that _The Madness_ is your home, and, I suppose, that's for the best.  I'll need a first officer that I can rely on, not like that fool, Hornigold, that North insisted I take on following Allison’s departure.  I can't have you swanning off at the drop of a hat just to see what the latest Parisian fashions are, or selling the silverware like that bastard."

"As if I would do that..." Brad broke off to stare at Adam, "First officer?  What do you mean first officer?  Monte is the first officer and a fine job he's doing."

"He's had word from his brother, the merchant.  His recent ventures have proven lucrative and he aims to expand his fleet.  He has asked Monte to captain one of the ships.  It's a solid wage and little danger," Adam shrugged, "Personally, I suspect that Monte is doing it more for the family connection than for stability.  He'll be bored inside a week, mark my words, but he will stand by his brother."

It was understandable.  Monte had more than enough money to buy a boat of his own, or the expertise to steal one, but he'd never shown any inclination to depart.  Loyalty, Brad supposed.  He’d miss the man’s solid presence on board, and even miss the man’s snoring, astonishing as that seemed now.  It had taken him a month to adjust to the fact that the man’s snores made the timbers shake, but now Brad slept best when Monte was in the room with him.  He’d provided most of the practical help that had eased Brad into the role of second officer.  He’d even gone so far as to source a fine Bordeaux for Brad’s birthday the previous month.  Besides Adam, Monte was Brad’s closest friend aboard, a sounding board, and the only other person aboard who knew that the incident on the _Revenge_ wasn’t entirely behind him.  He would miss Monte keenly.  What would life be like on _The Madness_ without Monte?  Belatedly, Brad's brain snapped back to the second part of Adam’s statement. First Officer? He was going to be second only to Adam onboard?  He didn't have any time to waste!

Brad sat up, pulling the sheet with him, much to Adam's amusement, "I need to get going.  There're a thousand things that I need to talk to Monte about before he leaves.  We're scheduled to make landfall tomorrow.  You could have given me more notice!"

"He's not leaving us until next week.  We're docked until then," Adam tried to wrestle the sheet back but Brad was too distracted to loose his grip.

Brad got out of the bed, tucked the sheet around himself, working through lists in his head as he paced, "There're the repairs that are due when we're in port, those will need to be assessed.  We'll have to make sure that his share of the last treasure is changed into pounds so that he can take it with him, but that's not a worry.  I know a man who can do that.  There's the project that he's been working on that he promised me to secrecy on that I shouldn't have even mentioned so forget you heard anything.  I'll need to figure out if we can finish that before his departure, or if it needs to be rescheduled.  Supplies, rum, food, timber, gun powder, munitions...  I need to pick a replacement from the crew that we have.  Blast me, the list is endless.  How could you not tell me until now?"

Adam was sitting on the bed now, bare as the day he was born but Brad had no time to dwell on that.  Now that they had dissolved that aspect of their relationship, decency obliged him to avert his eyes. 

"Monte only confirmed it today."

"Alright then, I'll need to take my leave now.  My apologies, Adam," Brad made for the door.

"Brad!  BRAD!" Adam's shouts stopped Brad in his tracks.

"Yes?"

" _Clothes_ , Brad, and leave me my sheet," Adam laughed and then stilled, "Good to know that you have bounced back from our separation so quickly."

Brad paused as he grabbed his clothes and turned to look at Adam. There was a sadness to his eyes that Brad hadn't seen there in a long time, "Adam, love, it's not... Blast me, how do I explain this?" Brad sat down and took Adam's hand in his and stroked his thumb over the back of it, "Everything you've said has been true but honestly, we both knew that it was going to come to this. Our friendship remains, undamaged and to me, that's the most important thing. Someone will come along and they will steal your heart and capture your soul. My word on that. You deserve no less, love, and that's not just our friendship talking. I'll find someone too. However, and mark my words well on this, Adam, I'll not let you settle for anyone second rate. I'm starting to realise that you need an equal, someone who'll stand toe to toe with you but also side by side. Someone pretty, naturally, but someone with backbone and forged in steel. Expect me to be an arse to him, though," Brad smiled, "because I'll not see you hurt."

Adam laughed, "Yes, yes, Brad.  I understand.  You'll try to drive him away and if he stays then I can keep him."

"Something along that vein," Brad smiled and leaned in to kiss Adam on the cheek.  "Although, if you get lonely before you find him..." Brad dropped his eyes to where the Captain's hand attempted to cover his privates.  "I'm sure arrangements can be made."

Adam picked up the pillow and flung it in Brad's direction.  Brad dodged and it hit the wall before falling harmlessly to the floor. 

Silence fell between them and Adam took his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.  “I’m not sure what I did to be so blessed with such a friend.  We end our relationship and without pause, you’re reassuring me that I will certainly find my soul mate.  You’re a good man and a better pirate, Bradley Bell, and one day, you too will find the man who makes you complete, some stray that needs your care and attention and will be your perfect compliment.  Expect me to be no less forgiving of him than you intend to be with my paramour.  I’ll not see you hurt, love.”

Brad smiled and kissed Adam’s hand in return, "It’ll take quite a man to measure up to you, Adam, but I’m sure that he’s out there somewhere.  We’ll just have to keep sailing until we find men worthy of us.  But now, I must dress and meet with Monte before my watch.  I'll see you later?  Dinner as usual?  You could invite Monte and we can give him a proper send off.  His last night as a pirate on the open waves deserves commemoration."

"I'll see to it," Adam smiled.

Brad started to dress, making free use of the mirror in Adam's room to ensure that he looked sharp as a new pin.  Fine brocade and lace with silk trimmings in the palest of peaches, he looked a damned sight different than he had when he was brought aboard, unconscious and whipped raw.  Now, his share, such part of it that he spent anyway, was whittled away with visits to tailor shops and fine clothing, and new weaponry of course, but that went without saying.  Gone was the dark blue that had once been all he wore.  Not an item in his closet was even close to Naval colours, except... except for the lone British naval uniform with Lieutenant's markings folded up in the bottom of his trunk under layers of dust, reminder of days long past.  He still took it out every so often, remembering the pride with which he’d worn it.  His pride was gone now, replaced with fire and hatred and deep down, gratitude.  Without that uniform and all it represented, Brad would never have been at sea and would never have found _The Madness_ , her crew or her Captain.

Brad felt hands around his waist and he was pulled back against the hard planes of Adam's chest.  He looked at their shared reflections and smiled wanly.  It looked fake even to Brad, filled with sadness and heartache and Brad closed his eyes.

"It's alright, Brad," Adam soothed, "Don't hide behind closed lids.  There's no need.  Not here with me."

Brad slowly opened his eyes.  He felt stronger with Adam's arms around him.  The nightmares still came at night but not as frequently as they had, though only Adam could keep them away entirely.  What would Brad do now that he was back on restricted access to the Captain?  That was a question that would have to wait for another day.  For now, he had duties that he needed to attend to, work that needed to be done.  He rested in Adam's embrace for a moment longer before disengaging.

"I'm fine now.  Thank you," Brad assured Adam.

"Whenever you need, Brad," Adam laid his hands on Brad's shoulders, "That's a promise."

Brad nodded and left the cabin with a small smile.  Safely alone in the corridor, he took a moment and just breathed. 

When he stepped onto the deck, it was with the authority and the bearing of a First Officer.  Not just any First Officer, no, but the authority of the First Officer of _The Madness_ , with a price on his head and a sword at his side, and never would anyone take the ship on his watch.


	9. Happy Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 Years Later

**13 th May 1711**   
**Swinging from _The Madness_ to _The Retribution_ , **   
**3 Leagues West of Bahama Island**

 

The rope bit into Brad's wrist as he kicked off, flying free for dangerous seconds before landing safely on the deck of the _Retribution_ , his sword drawn and ready to take on all comers.  The _Retribution_ was ripe for the taking, crippled by _The Madness_ ’s cannon, but that didn't make them easy prey.  Through the spyglass, Brad had seen the neat red uniforms of Marines and any fool knew what that meant; a damned hard fight.

Brad swung his sword, sweeping aside the clumsy strikes of the men attacking him; regular seamen and layabouts and not a damned swordsman amongst them.  Capable only of huge over-handed blunders that were easily knocked aside and Brad flicked his sword to knock the inept men aside and then stabbed them through with his blade.  These easy pickings weren't his goal, no, he was here for the Marines.  That was why the Captain had taken the unusual decision to release him from his regular duties of keeping the ship secure in favour of leading a party of boarders.  Brad was itching for a good fight and here, at least, there was a chance he'd get it. 

Brad stalked forward, the enemy around him easily disposed of, and made for the main deck where the Marines readied pistols and flintlock rifles to fire at the men of _The Madness_.  Beside him, he recognised the steps of Adam, his trademark white just visible from the corner of Brad's eye.  Just beyond the Captain was ex-Lieutenant Kristopher Allen, _The Madness_ 's new second officer, still a little green on raids like this but a good solid man, as Brad reluctantly admitted in the privacy of his own thoughts, as long as he remembered that the Navy was behind him now and _The Madness_ was his mistress.  Brad dodged a sloppy thrust and whipped the flat of his blade out fast enough to catch the lad on the cheek and send him flying.  Brad looked to his left, to Adam and Kristopher, and nodded.  The nod was returned two-fold and they moved, three lines of merciless death cutting a clean swathe through their opponents. 

Rifle, sword, pistol or dagger, it made no difference to Brad what they held, if they stood against him, they were his enemies and would die an enemy’s death.  Blood wet his cheek as he struck and struck again, losing himself in the repetition.  Faces became a blur to him as he focused instead on their motions, their actions, anticipating their blows and avoiding the sharp bite of steel.  One after another, they fell.  Others moved in to take their place, but Brad was relentless.  Ducking under a blow, Brad snatched up a length of rope which he wrapped around his off-hand and wrist as a crude protection once he had a chance.

He was about to finish one man, a Marine by his colours, when his sword was stopped, blocked by another blade.  Brad looked up to meet his newest opponent’s eyes, smiling even as he kicked the first man squarely in the stones and sent him flying back to clear the field for the Marine Major.  Brad drew back his sword and saluted the other man with the blade.  The salute was answered in proper form.  Brad was tempted to take the advantage and attack while the Major’s sword was out of position, but the Major looked to be the most challenging opponent Brad could hope to find that day and Brad would prefer to defeat him on an honourable battlefield. 

The first pass was a test, a glancing blow that was easily parried.  The next was the same, feinting right to draw Brad to engage but Brad held back, schooling his features so as to give nothing away.  The Major stepped back a fraction and Brad closed the distance.  Tradition insisted that it was now Brad's turn to test his opponent but Brad was never one for tradition.  He knocked away the man's sword and lunged forward, making zipping attacks that forced the Major back and off balance.  Brad smirked at the surprise on his opponent's face and immediately feinted left and backhanded right, but the Major was ready for it and ducked it easily.  The Major backed off a fraction and took a second to steady himself.  Brad allowed him the second of grace before he attacked again, relentless as he picked apart the Major's defences. 

The Major had been schooled in fencing – that much was obvious – but the Navy allowed little time for sword practice even if one could find a partner.  The only training ground was brutal, bloody battle and it was clear to Brad that this Major had not had been afforded nearly so much opportunity to practice as Brad.  Brad also had the advantage when it came to speed and quickness which balanced the Major’s longer reach.  Brad allowed himself to take the man's measure as the Major repositioned himself.  He wasn't an unattractive fellow, muscular and tall.  He stood with a straight back and was pretty enough, Brad supposed, with his brown hair and a kind face with laughter lines around his mouth and eyes.  If they'd met in other circumstances, Brad would have been tempted to buy the man a drink and see if the man's head could be turned.  As it was, it was a shame that Brad would have to run him through.  Possibly Adam could wring a surrender from the Captain of the _Retribution_ in time to save the fair Major’s life?

The Major attacked first this time, and Brad toyed with him, simply sweeping the blows aside with easy parries.  Brad drew the Major into a pattern and once the man had committed to it, it was child’s play to add a riposte and cut a slice from the Major's side.  Blood made a darker stain against the Marine red of his coat and the Major grasped the wound with his free hand as best he could.  Brad pressed his attack relentlessly, driving the Major back further and further until his back was at the railing.  A lesser man would have thrown down his sword but the Major did not even hesitate.  In an act of considered lunacy, he dove at Brad, throwing himself at the ground and springing up to his feet an instant later as Brad was forced back.  Brad was ready, though, when the man righted himself and never let his attention or his attack waver. 

It was not the Major’s increasingly desperate attack that felled him.  Brad's toe caught in the jacket of one of the bodies on the deck and stumbled forward, his balance askew.  He gave himself over to the fall instead of fighting it and flipped over, never taking his eyes from the Major.  The Major's blade was falling fast towards him and it was instinct alone that brought Brad’s hand up.  The thick hemp rope protected his hand, allowing him to knock the Major’s sword aside and no blood was drawn.  Brad found himself at a loss, flat on his back with no way to regain his footing.  Desperation was his bunkmate and Brad kicked out.  The Major winced as Brad's sharp heel connected with his shin and uttered an oath so unexpectedly benign that Brad could not help but smile.

"Do you need some help finishing this man off, Mister Bell?" Adam's voice came from close by Brad's head, amusement clearly audible.

Brad climbed to his feet, "Not at all, Captain.  A moment longer and I should be done."

"I'll not yield to the likes of you," the Major flustered.

"I'm not looking for your surrender," Brad straightened and presented _en garde_. 

The Major copied him and the fight was on again.  Brad needed to spare more attention for the deck underfoot than he had before.  There were a multitude of bodies befouling the deck and each with arms, legs and clothing that seemed to reach out for the feet of the battling men.  The Major fought well, using his extended reach to take the fight to Brad but he had yet to do more than mark Brad's clothing.  The wound Brad had inflicted on the Major was another tale.  Brad could see the red stain extend most of the way down the man's leg.  The Major’s free hand was slick with blood. 

"Mister Bell," Adam's voice again pierced Brad's concentration, more terse this time, "at your convenience."

Brad didn't reply.  He could ill afford the distraction of the Captain’s interjection.  With hope fleeing faster than his life’s blood, the Major pressed the attack.  He had exchanged finesse for brute strength, swinging wildly.  Brad dived below a blow that would have cleaved him in two and slashed out to open the man's leg.  The Major buckled but kept his feet.  Another feint from Brad made the Major over-compensate and bared his other side for a quick jab.  Brad landed it perfectly and the man groaned. 

Still though, still the Marine did not fall.  God and the Navy had definitely intended this soldier to stand firm to the Gates of Heaven themselves.  Brad pressed forward once more into the flurry of blows, hoping for a decisive strike, but he couldn't hope to land a mortal blow and keep his head.

Something caught on his heel as he gave ground and Brad was down again, and down hard.  He hadn't realised that he was so close to the mast, not until his head and shoulder crashed into hard wood.  Brad's sword was knocked from his hand and pain radiated through his body.  It took him a second to focus through his shock and when he did, he saw the Major standing over in front of him, sword raised to land the fatal blow. 

Brad had lost.

Brad had lost?  He straightened as much as he could, determined to meet his death like a man, but the final blow never came.  The weight of the sword made the Major sway backwards despite his best faltering attempts to keep his balance.  One step, two and the man toppled backwards.  Brad blinked at the scene, not quite believing what had happened.  Scrabbling for his sword, Brad pushed himself upright and went to the man's side.  He expected a trick of some sort but blue eyes stared vacantly up at the sky and Brad let himself relax.  The Major had been a fierce opponent and Brad was aggrieved to lose him, particularly to such a fluke of ill-fortune. 

Looking around the ship, Brad found that his duel had been very literally the last fight.  The greater part of the _Revenge_ ’s men lay dead across the deck, with a small group on the Mizzen deck surrounded by crewmen from _The Madness_ , but it was obvious that they had capitulated already.  Adam was directing men to strip the ship and gather up the stores.  When Brad looked around for Kristopher, he found the second officer back on _The Madness_ taking charge of the men there and preparing to manoeuvre closer to receive the heavier cargo.  Having no immediate station to report to, Brad took a moment to kneel beside the Major. 

Regret surged through him. A few more moments and Brad could have taken the Major’s surrender. They might yet have had that drink and perhaps even shared Brad’s bunk on _The Madness_ if the man proved agreeable.  Adam was ever watching for good men willing to sign the articles. He moved the man's sword until it rested dead centre of his chest, the tip pointing down to his feet and clasped the man's hands to the hilt on his chest.  Then, he reached up and closed the man's eyes with a brush of his hand.

Brad started back, tripping over his own feet in an undignified scramble backwards, as they snapped open again.  The Major’s eyes were unfocused, glazing rapidly as he looked at Brad.  His lips parted but Brad was too concerned with getting his own heart beating again to actually hear what the man whispered.

"Captain!" Brad shouted.

"Mercy," the Major breathed again, voice wet and choked.

"Captain!" Brad shouted again.

Adam rushed to his side, a pistol drawn.  He took in the situation in an instant, dropping to his haunches beside Brad.

"He's asking for mercy, Captain," Brad looked to Adam and then back to the Major.

Adam looked at him for a long second, "The decision is yours."

Brad bit his lip.  Killing the man was one thing, but watching him die when he'd asked for mercy?  There were depths of depravity to which Brad would never sink.

He didn't dare look at Adam, "Call for Maya."

The call rang out and Brad felt Adam's hand on his shoulder, but Brad couldn't tear his eyes from the wounded man.  Brad's hand rested on the Major's clasped hands and Brad could feel every stuttering breath the man took as they waited for Maya.  Moments stretched to seconds stretched to minutes stretched to veritable hours as he looked into those blue eyes, speaking soft words that were the only comfort he could offer.  Light faded slowly from the Major’s eyes and Brad whispered for him to hold on just a while longer.

Adam pulled him back when Maya arrived with Manish, the other surgeon, at her side.  Brad went reluctantly, turning away only when Maya bared the wounds that Brad had inflicted and biting back the surprising sting of tears. 

"It looks as if you've found your stray," Adam's voice was low.

He looked back at the Major being tended by Maya, Manish hovering by her side and handing her whatever she called for.  Brad didn't even know the man's name.  There was no reason to pin his hopes on the Major.  He might not even survive the night.  Brad shook away that bleak thought.  The man was a fighter.  A few scratches wouldn't carry him off to the Everafter.  Brad's optimism slipped its fetters and the first buds of hope started to blossom in Brad's breast, unbidden but taking root second by second.  Time would tell, of course, as it always did.  For now, Brad would wait and watch and be there when the Major woke.  The Captain’s instincts hadn't been wrong yet and Brad trusted him implicitly. 

"Maybe I have, Captain," Brad answered, a smile picking at his lips, “Maybe I have."


End file.
